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I  LIBRARY   I 

I    UNIVERSITY  OF    I 
\CAUFORNIA/ 


THE  HEART  OF 
CANYON  PASS 


Hunt's  arms  were  around  the  girl  and  he  held  her  fast. 

(Frontispiece) 


THE    HEART  OF 
CANYON  PASS 

BY  THOMAS  K.  HOLMES 


AUTHOR  OF 
'The  Man  From  Tall  Timber/'  etc. 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 
R.  EMMETT  OWEN 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with  George  Sully  &  Company 
Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


LOAN  STACK 

6//1  G- 


COPYRIGHTED,  1921   (as  a  serial). 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,   BY 
GEORGE  SULLY  &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved 


Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


I.  DISCONTENT  AT  CANYON  PASS     .     .  i 

II.  DISCONTENT  AT  DITSON  CORNERS     .  18 

III.  A  SHADOW  THROWN  BEFORE       .     .  30 

IV.  PHILOSOPHY  BOUND  IN  HOMESPUN  .  38 
V.  How  THE  PASSONIANS  TOOK  IT    .     .  46 

VI.  THE  APPROACH       ......  58 

VII.  THE  FIRST  TRICK 69 

VIII.  A  FLOWER  IN  THE  MIRE    ....  78 

IX.  A  BEGINNING 91 

X.  MUTTERINGS   OF   A    STORM          ...  99 

XL  THE  STORM  ABOUT  TO  BURST      .      .  in 

XII.  TOLLEY'S  TALE 122 

XIII.  PLANS  ARE  MADE 130 

XIV.  THE  GREAT  DAY  ARRIVES       .      .      .  141 
XV.  PEP  AND  A  LITTLE  PEPPER     .      .     .  152 

XVI.  LOVE  AND  LONGING      .     .     .     .     .  161 

XVII.  A  BATTLE  IN  A  GIRL'S  HEART      .      .  169 

XVIII.  THE  SHADOW  ON  BETTY'S  PATH       .  177 

XIX.  A  GOOD  DEAL  OF  A  MAN    ....  189 

V 

!  .     353 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX.  MURDER  WILL  OUT     .....  197 

XXI.  THE  DRAMA  OF  A  LIE 211 

XXII.  A  FACE  IN  THE  STORM     ....  219 

XXIII.  A  GREAT  LIGHT  DAWNS    .....  229 

XXIV.  THE  BARRIER  DOWN — FOR  A  MOMENT  237 
XXV.  UNDERSTANDING 246 

XXVI.  THREATENING  WEATHER  ....  256 

XXVII.  SEVERAL  CONCLUSIONS      ....  265 

XXVIII.  CATASTROPHE 273 

XXIX.  His  LAST  CARD      .     ...     ...     ..    ,     .  286 

XXX.  CLEARING  SKIES     .    •..    ;.,    .    ...    -.,  297 


THE  I  HEART 
OF  CANYON  PASS 

CHAPTER  I 

DISCONTENT  AT   CANYON   PASS 

THE  bluebird  was  no  harbinger  of  spring  at 
Canyon  Pass.  Most  of  the  inhabitants  had  never 
seen  that  feathered  songster  and  many  had  never 
heard  of  it.  Incidentally  these  same  Passonians 
would  not  have  known  a  harbinger  in  any  case,  pre 
suming  possibly  that  it  was  one  of  those  new 
fangled  nipples  for  the  hydraulic  pipes  at  the 
Eureka  Washings,  or  something  fancy  that  Bill 
Judson  was  selling  in  cans  at  the  Three  Star 
Grocery. 

But  spring  had  unmistakably  arrived  at  Canyon 
Pass  when  those  two  irrepressible  pocket-hunters, 
Steve  Siebert  and  Andy  McCann,  got  together  their 
frayed  and  rusty  outfits,  exchanged  the  hard-earned 
money  each  had  toiled  for  during  the  winter  over 
the  counter  of  the  Three  Star  for  supplies  and 
loaded  each  his  burro  till  the  sad-eyed  little  brutes 


2  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

almost  buckled  under  the  weight  of  flour,  beans,  salt 
pork,  coffee,  and  prospectors'  tools. 

Each  ancient  then  mounted  his  moth-eaten  cayuse, 
jerked  the  towline  of  his  objecting  burro,  and  pro 
ceeded  out  of  town,  Steve  making  the  ford  through 
the  East  Fork,  while  Andy  plodded  through  the 
shallows  of  the  West  Fork,  both  bound  down  the 
canyon  for  the  desert  country  which  they  hated  with 
an  unbelievably  bitter  hatred,  yet  which  dragged 
the  old  men  back  to  its  grim  barrens  as  soon  as  the 
spring  freshets  cleared  the  canyon  and  gulches  of 
winter's  accumulation  of  snow. 

Canyon  Pass  was  no  beauty  spot  over  which  an 
artist  might  rave;  nor  was  the  landscape  surround 
ing  it  even  passably  attractive  to  the  eye.  Man,  in 
delving  for  nature's  treasures  in  the  rocky  head 
lands  and  along  the  benches  of  the  East  and  West 
Forks,  had  marred  past  redemption  what  little 
beauty  of  form  and  color  the  rugged  wedge  of  land 
at  the  head  of  the  canyon  once  possessed. 

But  on  this  morning  there  was  a  soft  blur  of  blue 
haze  padding  the  sharp  outlines  of  the  canyon  walls 
and  brooding  over  the  higher  hills.  The  streams 
flowing  on  either  side  of  the  town  crooned  instead 
of  foaming  boisterously  in  their  beds,  and  where 
they  joined  to  make  Runaway  River,  which  followed 
the  bed  of  the  canyon  southerly,  the  thunder  of  their 
waters  seemed  hushed. 

It  was  not  yet  sunrise,  but  a  pearl-gray  radiance 


Discontent  at  Canyon  Pass  3 

flooded  the  town  and  canyon  as  far  south  as  one 
could  see.  Lights  wavered  drunkenly  behind  the 
window-panes  of  the  all-night  saloons  and  dance 
halls.  This  enticing  spring  morning  followed  the 
dregs  of  another  riotous  night  in  Canyon  Pass. 

The  day  before  had  been  pay  day  at  the  Eureka 
Washings  and  the  Oreode  Company's  diggings  and 
at  most  of  the  major  mining  prospects  in  the  vicin 
ity.  At  noon  the  miners  and  other  workmen  had 
knocked  off  work,  drawn  their  pay,  and,  cleaned 
up  and  dressed  in  holiday  attire,  had  sought  the 
amusement  places  of  the  town.  From  dark  till 
dawn  they  had  as  usual  torn  the  town  wide  open  like 
a  paper  sack,  to  quote  Bill  Judson,  as  he  stood  in 
the  doorway  of  his  store  and  watched  the  two  old 
desert  rats  leaving  the  dulling  merriment  and 
drunkenness  behind  them  as  they  weaved  their  sev 
eral  ways  out  of  sight  on  either  bank  of  Runaway 
River. 

'They've  been  doing  this  for  twenty  years," 
added  Judson,  pointing  with  his  pipe  stem  to  the 
disappearing  prospectors.  "An'  to  my  knowledge 
and  belief  ain't  neither  of  'em  struck  a  smell  of 
paying  color  in  all  that  time." 

"That  so?"  returned  Smithy,  his  gangling  clerk, 
coming  outside  to  stretch  and  yawn.  Smithy  had 
the  look  of  a  young  man  who  was  still  in  growth 
and  he  needed,  as  Judson  said,  "all  outdoors  to 
stretch  in." 


4  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Say!  What's  the  matter  with  them  two  old 
sour  doughs?  All  the  time  they  was  buyin'  that 
stuff  they  never  spoke  a  word  to  each  other,  and  if 
one  of  'em  caught  a  look  from  t'other  he  snarled 
like  a  wild  tagger!  They'd  have  showed  their 
teeth— both  of  'em— if  they'd  had  any  left  but 
stubs." 

"Ain't  spoke,  to  my  knowledge,"  said  the  store 
keeper,  "Steve  and  Andy  ain't,  in  all  of  these 
twenty  years.  'Fore  that  they  was  as  thick  as  hasty 
puddin'  an'  throwed  in  together  ev'ry  spring — even 
steven — when  they  went  prospecting;  comin'  back 
yere  to  Canyon  Pass  in  the  fall  as  happy  as  a  bride 
and  groom  returning  from  the  honeymoon." 

"What  happened?  What  made  'em  so  sore  on 
each  other?"  asked  Smithy. 

"Don't  know.  Never  did  know.  Never  could 
find  out.  'Twas  right  after  the  big  slide.  You've 
heard  tell  o'  that,  even  if  you  ain't  been  here  six 
months?" 

"A  thousand  times,"  returned  Smithy  in  a  bored 
tone. 

"Well,  Steve  and  Andy  was  perky  as  blackbirds 
in  a  strawyard  that  spring.  'Twas  twenty  years 
back.  They  hid  out  their  camp  somewhere  near 
town  that  time.  I  always  figgered  they  had  a  good 
prospect  below  there,  in  the  canyon.  'Twas  even 
reported  that  they  took  a  sample  of  the  right  stuff 
to  the  assayer's  office.  But  they  was  as  close 


Discontent  at  Canyon  Pass  5 

mouthed  as  twin  clams  in  the  last  stages  of  hydro- 
phoby. 

"Then  come  the  slide.  Most  of  us  that  was  yere 
then  didn't  think  of  much  for  a  week  or  two  but 
whether  Canyon  Pass  was  goin'  to  be  left  on  the 
map  or  not.  Our  stake  was  yere,  and  the  slide 
acted  like  a  stopper  in  Runaway  River — like  to 
plugged  the  old  canyon  for  fair. 

"Howsumever,  when  the  channel  was  more  or 
less  clear  again  and  we  could  come  down  off  the 
roofs  of  our  shacks,  Steve  and  Andy  showed  up, 
but  from  different  directions,  as  sore  at  each  other 
as  two  carbuncles,  and  they  ain't  never  been  knowed 
to  speak  to  one  another  since.  Won't  even  drink 
at  the  same  bar.  The  only  time  they  come  into  the 
Three  Star  together  is  the  morning  they  pull  stakes 
for  the  desert." 

Smithy  yawned  again.  Steve  Siebert  and  Andy 
McCann  had  now  disappeared  beyond  outcropping 
warts  of  rock  at  the  foot  of  the  canyon  walls. 

Down  the  street  from  the  direction  of  the  mining 
shafts  sunk  in  the  heights  behind  the  town  strode 
a  well-proportioned  young  man  whose  bootsoles 
rang  on  the  patches  of  earth  out  of  which  the  frost 
had  not  yet  thawed.  He  was  cleanly  shaved  and 
clean-looking,  and  stood  more  than  six  feet  tall, 
with  an  air  of  frank  assertiveness  even  in  his  car 
riage.  He  owned  a  high  color  under  the  wind-tan 
of  his  countenance,  sandy  hair,  and  brown  eyes  with 


6  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

golden  flecks  in  them  when  he  was  amused  or  when 
he  was  angry. 

And  Joe  Hurley  was  usually  swayed  by  one  emo 
tion  or  the  other.  Now  he  appeared  to  be  amused 
as  he  came  abreast  of  the  Three  Star  Grocery. 

"What's  got  you  and  Smithy  up  so  early,  Bill?" 
he  asked. 

"Dad  burn  it,  Joe!  Don't  you  know  spring  has 
came  ?" 

"Pshaw!  I  thought  I  heard  a  tree-frog  last 
night.  So  Steve  Siebert  and  Andy  McCann  have 
lit  out  same  as  usual?  We  shall  miss  Steve  at  the 
Great  Hope." 

"Surest  thing  you  know,  Joe.  They're  on  their 
way.  And  just  as  sociable  as  usual."  Joe  Hurley's 
eyes  flashed  with  the  gleam  of  fun  that  made  him 
beloved  of  all  who  did  not  hate  him.  But  before 
he  could  utter  a  comment  the  storekeeper  added : 
"Wasn't  you  in  to  the  Grub  Stake  to-night?" 

Hurley  wheeled  to  frown  suddenly  at  the  flicker 
ing  lamps  of  Boss  Tolley's  gambling  hall  and 
cabaret  almost  directly  across  the  street.  The  quick 
change  of  emotion  reflected  in  his  face  betrayed 
the  character  of  the  man.  Hurley  was  given  to  sud 
den  impulses,  usually  spurred  by  the  primal  pas 
sions.  Yet  he  was  a  strong  man,  too,  and  kept  the 
lid  on  those  passions  if  he  desired. 

"Nell's  got  some  new  songs,"  went  on  Judson 
slyly.  "Right  cute  they  are.  She  certainly  is  some 


Discontent  at  Canyon  Pass  7 

songbird,  Joe.  Dad  burn  it!  She's  too  good  for 
those  roughnecks." 

Hurley  nodded  slowly  but  did  not  show  Judson 
his  face  at  once,  still  watching  the  pale  lights  of  the 
honkytonk  fighting  the  advancing  glow  of  the  dawn. 
The  storekeeper  had  not  lived  sixty-five  years — 
thirty  years  of  them  right  here  in  Canyon  Pass — 
without  gaining  a  pretty  keen  insight  into  human 
nature.  He  did  not  have  to  see  that  scowl  on  Joe 
Hurley's  face.  He  knew  what  Joe  was  ruminating. 

"And  'tain't  only  roughnecks  that  our  Nell's  too 
good  for,"  pursued  Judson  finally.  "The  pizenest 
snakes,  they  tell  me,  is  the  prettiest.  An'  kids  are 
tickled  to  look  at  pretties.  Nell's  only  a  kid  after 
all." 

"You're  right,  Bill!"  ejaculated  the  mine  owner 
with  a  snap  of  his  jaws  and  his  eyes  sparking  from 
no  good  humor. 

He  glanced  bale  fully  at  the  Grub  Stake,  his  face 
set  grimly,  almost  threatening. 

There  were  fitful  strains  of  music  from  within 
and  still  some  clatter  of  feet  and  voices.  Boss  Tolley 
made  it  his  boast  that  his  show  continued  until  the 
last  reveler  left. 

The  Grub  Stake  was  a  sprawling,  T-shaped  struc 
ture  with  the  long  bar  and  gaming  tables  in  the 
shank  of  the  T,  the  dance  hall  and  stage  at  the  rear. 
Beside  the  main  entrance  was  the  sign:  "Check 
Your  Guns  and  Spurs  Here,"  and  at  the  short 


8  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

counter  presided  a  young  woman  in  a  sleeveless  silk 
jersey  and  kneelength  satin  skirt,  who  dealt  out 
brass  checks  and  airy  persiflage  indiscriminately. 

The  rosewood  bar,  behind  which  Boss  Tolley  and 
his  three  barmen  sweated  at  the  height  of  the  rev 
elry,  had  cost  a  fortune  to  freight  over  the  trail 
to  Canyon  Pass.  The  gaudy  oil  painting  which 
hung  back  of  the  bar,  to  hear  Boss  Tolley  tell  it, 
had  cost  him  a  second  fortune. 

Dick  Beckworth,  who  was  Tolley' s  chief  dealer 
at  the  tables  of  chance,  was  a  privileged  character. 
He  was  supposed  to  be  a  "killer"  with  the  ladies. 
He  dressed  his  long  curls  and  heavy  black  mustache 
as  carefully  as  he  did  his  sleek  and  slender  person. 
Cream-colored  flannel  shirt,  a  flowing  tie,  velvet 
jacket  and  broadcloth  trousers  tucked  into  patent- 
leather  boots,  and  a  Mexican  sombrero  heavy  with 
silver  cord  to  top  this  ensemble,  he  made  a  picture 
to  rival  the  squalid  painting  over  the  bar. 

The  night  had  been  strenuous  at  the  tables,  but 
the  gambling  fever  had  now  abated.  Dick  lolled 
gracefully  in  the  armchair  at  his  empty  table  with 
half-closed  eyes,  smoking  a  cigarette.  Around  a 
table  near  the  archway  between  the  barroom  and 
the  hall  was  a  noisy  group  of  miners,  but  they  were 
no  longer  playing.  Their  glasses  had  just  been  re 
filled  at  the  bar. 

The  rasping  chords  of  a  hard-working  male 
quartette  beyond  the  archway  repeated  a  syncopated 


Discontent  at  Canyon  Pass  9 

rhythm  for  the  entertainment  of  the  patrons  of  the 
tables. 

From  beneath  the  arch  into  the  barroom  stepped 
suddenly  an  astonishingly  brilliant  figure — a  figure 
engraved  as  sharply  as  a  cameo  against  the  blue 
mist  of  tobacco  smoke  that  now  drifted  in  a  thin 
haze  throughout  the  barnlike  place.  The  group  of 
miners  about  the  first  table  roared  a  greeting. 

"Nell!  Nell  Blossom!  The  blossom  of  Canyon 
Pass!" 

"Give  us  a  song  of  your  own,  Nellie !"  added  one 
burly  miner,  swaying  from  his  seat  toward  her,  a 
maudlin  smile  on  his  face. 

The  girl's  smiling  expression  changed  swiftly  to 
one  of  flaring  fury.  She  swept  past  the  miners  and 
headed  straight  for  Dick  Beckworth,  who  had 
watched  the  incident  with  a  little  smile  flickering 
about  his  lips.  The  girl's  face  was  still  ablaze.  She 
needed  no  rouge  or  lipstick  in  any  case  to  lend  it 
color. 

"Dick,"  she  said  tensely,  "I  hate  this  place!" 

"I've  already  told  you  I  hate  to  see  you  in  it," 
he  rejoined  with  apparent  frankness.  "Singing  and 
dancing  for  these  roughnecks  is  far  beneath  you." 

The  flame  of  her  anger  gradually  waned  as  she 
gazed  down  into  his  face.  His  usual  calmness  was 
somewhat  ruffled  by  her  near  presence.  Nell 
Blossom  held  a  certain  influence  over  him  that 


io          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Dick  the  Devil" — his  boasted  cognomen  among 
his  admirers — was  loath  to  acknowledge. 

But  she  was  sweet  enough  and  pretty  enough  as 
she  stood  there  to  stir  the  most  placid  heart.  Even 
the  tawdry  costume  she  wore  could  not  detract  from 
her  charm,  the  red  silk  blouse  with  the  V-shaped 
cut  at  the  neck,  belted  velvet  skirt  to  the  tops  of 
tiny  riding-boots  on  tiny  feet,  her  clustering  curls 
of  a  golden-brown  color  crowned  by  a  "cowgirl"  hat 
— all  worn  as  a  costume  in  which  to  sing  "Pony 
Boy,"  and  "Cheyenne,"  which  popular  hits  had 
finally  reached  Canyon  Pass. 

"I  hate  this  place,  Dick,"  she  said  again,  now 
wearily  dropping  into  a  chair  at  his  elbow. 

Nell  Blossom  possessed  one  of  those  rare  com 
plexions  that  remind  one  of  nothing  so  much  as  a 
ripe  Alberta  peach.  The  crimson  of  her  cheeks  was 
vivid,  but  tinted  away  into  the  creaminess  of  her 
satin  skin.  Her  lips  were  not  too  red.  Her  nose 
was  a  nose  to  be  proud  of  without  being  large.  Her 
ears  were  visible  and  like  the  blossoms  of  the  dog 
wood  tree  in  texture  and  coloring. 

"You  know  how  I  feel,  Nell,"  said  Dick,  with  a 
calm  that  belied  his  heartbeats.  "I'm  sick  of  all 
this,  too."  He  gestured  gracefully  with  the  hand 
that  held  his  cigarette.  A  jewel  sparkled  on  that 
hand.  "Canyon  Pass  is  a  dirty  hole.  If  you  say 
the  word  we'll  get  out  of  it.  I've  made  a  good  stake. 
My  rake-off  has  given  me  a  full  poke  at  last.  We'll 


Discontent  at  Canyon  Pass  n 

go  away  from  here,  and  I'll  get  into  some  paying 
business.  I'll  never  turn  a  card  again — for  Boss 
Tolley  or  any  other  man.  I  mean  it!" 

The  girl  was  looking  straight  into  his  eyes.  He 
met  that  searching  gaze  as  inscrutably  as  he  had 
learned  to  endure  the  scrutiny  of  his  opponent  at 
the  poker  table. 

"Do  you  mean  it,  Dick?" 

"Just  that."  He  nodded.  "As  I  told  you  yester 
day,  say  the  word  and  we'll  light  out — now — this 
morning.  You  don't  know  much  about  the  world 
outside  of  Canyon  Pass,  Nell,  but  I'll  show  it  to 
you.  And  I  love  you — love  you  like  the  devil!" 

There  was  a  force  in  his  final  phrase,  although 
he  did  not  stir  in  his  chair,  that  made  her  tremble. 
A  vivid  flush  slowly  dyed  her  cheeks  and  throat. 
It  passed,  to  leave  her  blue  eyes  humid  and  her  lips 
smiling. 

"If  you  don't  believe  me " 

"I  do,"  she  interrupted.  "I  believed  you  yester 
day.  My  saddlebags  are  all  packed,  Dick,  and  I'm 
ready  just  whenever  you  are." 

A  sudden  electric  tremor  passed  through  the  man's 
nerves.  He  veiled  his  eyes  for  a  moment  that  she 
might  not  see  what  flared  into  them.  He  rose  with 
her. 

"Get  into  your  riding  clothes  and  we'll  start.  I'll 
meet  you  with  my  horse  in  half  an  hour,"  he  said 
almost  sternly. 


12  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

But  his  eyes  now  answered  her  look  of  grateful 
ness  and  adoration  with  what  she  thought  was  a  re 
flection  of  her  own  chaste  desire. 

So  it  came  about  that  two  other  riders  left  Can 
yon  Pass  on  this  spring  morning  while  the  sun  still 
lingered  abed,  and,  crossing  the  West  Fork  an  hour 
behind  Andy  McCann,  unlike  him  chose  the  wagon- 
track  to  the  summit  of  the  canyon  wall  on  that  side 
of  Runaway  River. 

"Which  way  do  we  go,  Dick?  To  Crescent 
City?" 

"South,"  he  returned,  without  looking  at  her. 

"We-ell.  Lamberton  is  further  but  there's  a  par 
son  there,  too.  That's  another  reason  why  I've 
come  to  hate  Canyon  Pass.  It  isn't  decent  like 
other  towns — or  even  up-to-date.  It  never  had  a 
church  or  a  parson.  It's  got  everything  else — sa 
loons,  gambling  halls,  honkytonks,  stores,  a  bank,  a 
hotel,  a  stamp  mill,  an  express  office,  even  a  school, 
such  as  it  is.  But  it's  heathen — plumb  heathen, 
Dick." 

He  smiled  at  her  then,  rather  a  superior  smile. 
"It's  not  the  only  mining  town  that  answers  your 
description." 

"I  know  it,"  Nell  rejoined.  "But  I  want  to  see 
the  other  kind  of  towns.  Mother  Tubbs  says  Can 
yon  Pass  ain't  got  no  heart,  and  she's  right.  She 
says  she  can't  even  tell  when  Sunday  comes,  only 
that  Sam  always  comes  home  drunk  that  day.  This 


Discontent  at  Canyon  Pass  13 

is  Sunday,  Dick.  It's  a  good  day  on  which  to  begin 
a  new  life." 

"Oh,  life's  all  right,"  the  gambler  said  easily. 
"Take  it  as  you  find  it,  Nell." 

They  came  up  into  the  sunlight  on  the  rim  of 
the  canyon  wall.  Once  on  the  level  trail  their 
horses  broke  into  a  canter.  They  could  look  down 
at  certain  points  into  the  sink  of  the  canyon  where 
Runaway  River  foamed  in  its  narrow  channel. 
They  spied  Steve  Siebert  with  his  outfit  traveling 
on  the  river  trail.  McCann,  of  course,  they  could 
not  see,  for  the  canyon  wall  on  this  side  was  almost 
sheer. 

Ahead,  as  they  rode  on,  was  the  Overhang — that 
monstrous  projection  capping  the  scarp  of  the  cliff, 
left  ages  ago  when  the  canyon  was  roughed  out  by 
the  glacial  floods  to  threaten  the  pass  below  with 
utter  extinction  if  its  bulk  ever  fell.  Parts  of  it  had 
fallen  some  twenty  years  previous.  This  was  the 
"big  slide"  which  had  for  a  time  choked  the  river 
channel  with  soil  and  rubble  and  threatened  to  flood 
out  Canyon  Pass. 

The  scar  on  the  steep  slope  of  the  west  wall  down 
which  that  slide  had  fallen  was  now  masked  by  a 
hardy  growth  of  scrubby  trees  and  brush.  But  the 
two  old  prospectors  never  passed  the  place,  either 
going  out  of  or  returning  to  Canyon  Pass,  without 
keenly  studying  the  scar. 

Halfway  up  the  height  had  been  a  shelf  with  a 


14  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

hollow  behind  it — an  ideal  spot  for  a  secret  camp, 
for  it  could  be  observed  neither  from  the  trail  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river  nor  from  the  rim  of 
the  west  wall  of  the  canyon.  Buried  as  this  shelf 
had  been  by  the  slide,  Steve  Siebert  and  Andy 
McCann  now  marked  the  spot — and  what  it  hid — 
and  then  glanced  sardonically  at  each  other  across 
the  foaming  river.  They  snarled  at  each  other  like 
a  pair  of  toothless  old  wolves.  The  fruit  of  their 
joint  toil  that  lay  behind  that  slide,  one  could  not 
reach,  and  the  other  could  not  compass.  The  secret 
had  festered  in  their  hearts  and  poisoned  the  very 
souls  of  the  two  ancients  for  these  twenty  years. 

Above,  the  two  in  the  plane  of  sunshine  and  freer 
air  rode  along  the  brink  of  the  Overhang. 

"Say!"  Dick  said  jerkily.  "Let's  not  go  to 
Lamberton — not  direct." 

"What?" 

There  was"  a  sharp  note  in  her  voice.  She  turned 
in  her  saddle  to  face  him.  Her  gaze  narrowed. 
Was  there  after  all  a  doubt  in  the  very  depths  of 
Nell's  soul  about  the  man? 

"I  know  a  fine  place — better  hotel  than  at  Lam 
berton — really  a  nice  place  to  stop.  We  can  reach 
it  before  night.  Hoskins.  You  know?" 

He  still  spoke  nervously.  Nell's  gaze  no  more 
left  his  face.  She  said  evenly,  as  though  her  mind 
was  quite  placid  again: 

"There's  no  parson  at  Hoskins,  either/' 


Discontent  at  Canyon  Pass  15 

He  darted  her  another  side-glance.  How  was 
she  taking  it?  Was  she,  after  all,  going  to  be 
"sensible?"  Nell  was  seventeen,  but  a  woman 
grown. 

"Shucks,  honey,"  Dick  said,  putting  out  a  hand 
to  touch  her  for  the  first  time.  "We'll  ride  on  and 
find  a  parson  later.  We're  in  no  rush.  We're  out 
for  a  grand,  good  time " 

She  pulled  her  horse  across  the  path  with  a  fierce 
jerk  of  the  bridle-rein,  and  so  escaped  the  defile 
ment  of  his  touch.  Her  right  hand  clutched  the 
handle  of  her  quirt,  the  knuckles  bone-white. 

"Do  you  mean — you  won't  marry  me?" 

Dick  smiled  his  most  disarming  smile,  his  brown 
eyes  even  twinkled.  That  frank  and  humorous  look 
was  what  had  first  won  his  advantage  with  Nell 
Blossom. 

"Shucks,  honey,"  he  drawled  again.  "Why  so 
serious  ?  Don't  worry  about  that.  I'm  free  to  con 
fess  I'm  not  a  marrying  man.  Seen  too  much 
trouble  for  both  parties  when  they  are  tied  to  one 
another  with  any  silly  string  of  the  law.  It's  love 
that  will  hold  us  together." 

"That's  heathen,  Dick!"  she  exclaimed  hotly. 
"Just  as  heathen  as  Canyon  Pass." 

"Nonsense !"  He  laughed.  "You're  just  as  safe 
with  me,  whether  we're  married  or  not." 

Which  might  have  been  quite  true,  but  Nell 
stared  at  him,  her  expression  as.  inscrutable  as  his 


16  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

own  when  he  worked  behind  the  green  table.  Dick 
the  Devil  was  a  shrewd  gambler,  but  Nell  Blossom 
had  played  poker  herself  ever  since  she  could  read 
the  pips  on  the  cards.  And  she  had  been  fighting 
her  own  battles  in  harsh  environment  and  against 
men  almost  from  the  same  tender  age.  Her  cold 
rage  now  sprang  from  the  fact  that  he  should  so 
mistake  her  character. 

"Come  on,  honey!"  he  said  coaxingly. 

The  quirt  came  up  slowly;  then  it  sang  through 
the  air. 

"You  dog,  you!  Dick  the  Devil  is  your  true 
name!  And  I  thought " 

The  man,  shouting  an  oath,  dragged  his  mount 
backward.  The  lash  descended,  missed  his  hand 
some  face,  but  seared  the  horse  across  its  neck. 

Squealing,  the  animal  leaped  to  one  side — to  the 
verge  of  the  out-thrust  lip  of  the  Overhang.  The 
gambler  wheeled  him  again,  seeking  to  save  him 
self. 

"Do  you  want  to  murder  me — you  wildcat!"  he 
cried  angrily. 

There  was  a  sudden  crack,  like  the  slapping  of 
one  board  upon  another.  Between  the  plunging 
horse  and  the  girl  a  gap  yawned  in  the  earth. 
Frost,  the  early  rains,  or  perhaps  time  itself,  had 
weakened  this  bit  of  the  Overhang.  A  patch  no 
larger  than  a  good-sized  dining  table  broke  away 
and  slid  outward. 


Discontent  at  Canyon  Pass  17 

The  scrambling,  wild-eyed  horse  and  the  shriek 
ing,  white-faced  man  disappeared  with  it.  The  girl 
held  in  her  own  mount  with  a  firm  hand.  The  flare 
of  insane  anger  faded  from  her  blue  eyes.  But  her 
countenance  settled  into  a  harsh  and  unlovely 
expression. 

Yet  she  slipped  down  from  her  saddle,  quieted 
her  horse  with  a  word,  and  stepped  recklessly  to 
the  crumbling  edge,  trying  to  see  down  the  face  of 
the  cliff. 

She  could  mark  no  trace  of  horse  or  rider.  She 
could  no  longer  hear  the  rumble  of  the  falling 
debris.  An  icy  horror  gripped  her.  He  was  gone ! 

Finally  she  drew  back  from  the  brink.  She  looked 
about  at  the  landscape,  but  there  was  not  a  human 
being  to  be  seen.  She  slowly  mounted  her  horse 
again. 

Something  besides  a  terrible  disaster  had  hap 
pened  here  at  the  brink  of  the  Overhang.  Some 
thing  had  happened  to  Nell  Blossom  so  great,  so 
soul-racking,  that  she  would  never  be  altogether 
the  same  girl  again.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  for  one 
so  young  to  find  its  love-idol  shattered. 

After  a  little  Nell  started  her  mount,  but  she  did 
not  ride  back  toward  Canyon  Pass. 


CHAPTER  II 

DISCONTENT  AT  DITSON   CORNERS 

THE  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  read  twice 
these  closing  words  of  the  long  letter. 

.  .  .  and  so,  my  dear  Willie,  to  use  your  own  way  of 
expressing  it,  I  am  steering  straight  for  the  devil — and 
enjoying  the  trip  immensely. 

Wishing  you  were  with  me,  Willie,  I  am,  even  after 
your  rather  bitter  castigation, 

Sincerely  your  friend, 

JOE  HURLEY. 

He  laid  the  missive  on  his  desk  with  a  full- 
bosomed  sigh.  Nor  was  that  sigh  wholly  because 
of  the  reprobate  Joe.  Joe's  flowers  of  speech  did 
not  much  ruffle  the  parson's  spirit. 

Joe  Hurley  might  be  gay,  irresponsible,  reckless, 
even  downright  wicked;  but  he  never  could  fail  to 
be  kind.  Two  years  of  close  contact  with  the  blithe 
Westerner — those  final  two  years  at  college  before 
Hunt  went  to  the  divinity  school — had  assured  the 
latter  that  Joe  Hurley  owned  a  heart  of  gold.  The 
gold  might  be  tarnished,  but  it  was  true  metal 
nevertheless. 

Hunt's  mental  picture  of  his  college  friend,  and 

18 


Discontent  at  Ditson  Corners  19 

never  had  scholastic  friendship  been  more  astound 
ing,  could  not  include  any  great  blemish  of  later- 
developed  character.  It  was  five  years  since  they 
had  seen  each  other.  Those  five  years  fcould  not 
have  made  of  Joe  Hurley  the  "roughneck"  that  he 
intimated  he  had  become.  That  was  Joe's  penchant 
for  painting  with  a  wide  brush. 

The  reputation  the  Westerner  had  left  behind  him 
at  college  when  he  was  requested  by  a  horrified 
governing  board  to  depart  for  the  sake  of  the  gen 
eral  welfare  of  the  undergraduate  body,  revealed 
Joe's  character  unequivocally. 

When  Joe  had  been  "bounced"  by  the  faculty  he 
had  celebrated  the  occasion  by  giving  a  farewell 
banquet  at  one  of  the  shadiest  hotels  in  the  college 
town,  to  the  wildest  crowd  of  students  he  could  get 
together.  On  his  own  part  Joe  had  dressed  in  full 
cowboy  regalia,  and  as  the  apex  of  the  evening's 
entertainment  he  had  "shot  up"  the  banquet  room, 
paying  the  bill  for  damages  the  next  morning  with 
a  cheerful  smile. 

The  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  remembered 
the  occasion  now  with  a  little  shiver  of  apprehen 
sion.  Suppose  the  people  of  Ditson  Corners  should 
ever  learn  that  he,  their  pastor,  had  been  one  of 
that  company  who  had  helped  Joe  Hurley  celebrate 
his  dismissal  from  scholastic  halls ! 

Joe's  father,  a  cattleman,  had  left  him  a  consid 
erable  fortune.  Joe  had  invested  much  of  it  in  a 


2O          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

certain  mining  claim  called  the  Great  Hope,  for  the 
young  fellow  had  been  keen  enough  to  see  that  the 
day  of  the  small  cattleman  was  gone.  The  mine 
was  paying  a  comfortable  income  with  the  promise 
of  doing  more  than  that  in  the  future,  so  Joe  wrote. 
But  he  wrote  more — much  more  that  was  exceed 
ingly  interesting  to  Hunt  in  his  present  discontented 
state  of  mind. 

He  picked  up  the  letter  again  to  re-read  a  part 
of  the  third  page,  this  broken  sentence  first  meeting 
his  envious  eye: 

.  .  .  and  if  ever  there  was  a  peach,  she  surely  is  one, 
Willie.  Golden-brown  hair,  big  blue  eyes,  and  a  voice — 
Say!  No  songbird  ever  had  anything  on  Nell.  If  you 
once  saw  her  and  heard  her  sing,  you'd  go  crazy  about 
her,  old  sobersides.  All  Canyon  Pass — I  mean  the  men- 
folks — are  at  her  feet  again,  now  she  has  returned  to 
town  and  is  singing  in  Colorado  Brown's  cabaret.  Sounds 
sort  of  devilish  and  horrid,  doesn't  it,  Willie  ?  Believe  me, 
Nell  Blossom  is  some  girl.  But  wild — say !  You  can't 
get  near  her.  She's  got  a  laugh  that  plays  the  deuce  with 
a  man's  heart  strings — accelerates  the  pit-a-pat  of  the 
cardiac  nerve  to  top-notch  and  then  some !  She's  got  us 
all  on  her  string,  from  gray-bearded  sour  doughs  to  the 
half-grown  grocery  clerk  at  the  Three  Star,  who  would 
commit  suicide  to-morrow  at  her  behest — believe  me ! 

But  no  man,  Willie,  has  seemed  yet  to  put  the  come 
hither  on  Nell  Blossom.  She  just  won't  be  led,  coaxed,  or 
driven.  She's  as  hard  as  molded  glass.  A  man-hater,  if 
ever  you  heard  of  one.  With  all  your  famed  powers  of 
persuasion,  reverend,  I'd  like  to  make  a  wager  that  you 
couldn't  mold  our  Nell  into  a  pattern  of  the  New  Eng 
land  virtues,  such  as  your  own  prim  little  sister  has  be 
come  by  this  time,  I've  no  doubt.  No  insult  to  Miss  Betty 
intended,  Willie.  But  our  Nell — well,  you'd  have  your 


Discontent  at  Ditson  Corners          21 

hands  full  in  trying  to  make  her  do  a  thing  that  she  did 
not  want  to  do. 

The  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  was  stung  here, 
not  by  the  good-natured  raillery  aimed  at  his  own 
traits  of  character  by  his  old  college  mate.  But 
why  had  Joe  gone  out  of  his  way  to  drag  Betty's 
name  into  it  ?  It  seemed  to  be  a  mild  slur  upon  his 
sister's  character,  and  Hunt  had  an  uneasy  feeling 
that  he  ought  to  resent  it. 

Betty  had  met  Joe  Hurley  but  once — to  Hunt's 
knowledge.  It  was  an  occasion  when  she  had 
stopped  at  the  college  town  on  her  way  home  from 
boarding  school.  Hunt  had  met  her  at  the  station, 
and  Joe  had  shown  up,  too.  The  three  of  them  had 
sought  a  restaurant  where  they  ate,  and  Betty  had 
chattered  like — well,  just  as  a  girl  of  her  age  and 
fresh  from  the  excitement  of  boarding  school  would 
chatter.  When  her  first  fear  of  the  big  Westerner 
had  worn  off  she  had  usurped  the  conversation 
almost  completely.  Hunt  had  often  thought  since 
that  Joe  Hurley  was  quite  attracted  by  his  lively 
sister. 

But  how  did  Joe  know  that  Betty  had  changed  so? 

That  his  sister  was  not  the  same  cheerful,  brisk, 
chatterbox  of  a  girl  she  had  been  when  Joe  met 
her,  Hunt  quite  well  knew.  And  the  change  puz 
zled  him. 

He  visualized  their  Aunt  Prudence  Mason,  who 
had  lived  all  her  long  life  in  the  rut  of  New  Eng- 


22  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

land  spinsterhood,  molding  more  or  less  the  char 
acters  of  the  orphaned  brother  and  sister  left  at  an 
early  age  to  her  sole  care.  Was  Betty,  here  in 
the  straitened  environment  of  Ditson  Corners, 
doomed  to  jog  along  the  well-beaten  track  Aunt 
Prudence  had  followed?  The  brother  shuddered  as 
he  thought  of  it. 

He  glanced  at  Joe's  letter  once  more.  A  golden- 
haired,  blue-eyed  girl  who  really  sang — not  shrieked 
as  did  Miss  Pelter  whose  top  notes  in  the  church 
choir  rasped  Hunt's  nerves  like  a  cross-cut  saw 
dragged  through  a  pine  knot. 

There  was  always  a  quarrel  of  some  kind  in  that 
choir — the  bickerings  and  heart-burnings  of  his 
volunteer  church  choir  were  perennial. 

Then,  there  was  the  feud  over  the  Ditson  pew — 
which  branch  of  the  influential  Ditson  family  should 
hold  the  chief  seats  in  the  church.  Hunt  could  not 
satisfy  everybody.  There  was  still  a  clique,  even 
after  his  two  years'  pastorate,  who  let  it  be  frankly 
known  that  they  had  desired  to  call  Bardell,  instead 
of  him,  to  the  pulpit  of  the  First  Church. 

These  continued  faultfindings  and  disputes  were 
getting  on  Hunt's  nerves.  And  they  must  be  affect 
ing  Betty — influencing  her  more  than  he  had  here 
tofore  considered. 

This  letter  from  Joe  Hurley  had  come  at  a  mo 
ment  when  Hunt  was  desperately  and  completely 
out  of  tune  with  his  environment.  He  had  brought 


Discontent  at  Ditson  Corners          23 

to  his  first  pastorate  a  modicum  of  enthusiasm 
which,  during  the  first  year,  had  expanded  into  an 
earnest  and  purposeful  determination  to  do  his  duty 
as  he  saw  it  and  to  carry  his  congregation  in  spirit 
to  the  heights  he  would  achieve. 

He — and  they — had  risen  to  a  certain  apex  of 
spiritual  experience  through  the  first  months  of  his 
earnest  endeavor,  and  then  the  cogs  had  begun  to 
slip.  Suddenly  Willett  Ford  Hunt's  castles  toppled 
and  collapsed  about  him.  He  found  himself,  half 
stunned,  wholly  mazed,  wallowing  in  the  debris  of 
his  first  church  row,  the  renewed  war  over  the  Dit 
son  pew. 

Hunt  had  extricated  himself  from  this  cataclysm 
with  difficulty,  almost  like  a  man  lifting  himself 
off  the  earth  by  his  bootstraps.  The  Ditson  feud 
was  by  no  means  at  an  end  even  now,  and  it  never 
would  be  ended  as  long  as  two  Ditsons  of  different 
branches  of  the  family  remained  alive.  Hunt  had 
sought  to  renew  his  own  and  his  congregation's 
spiritual  life.  It  was  then  and  not  until  then  that  he 
discovered  the  fire  was  out. 

Oh,  for  a  church  where  one  might  preach  as  one 
pleased,  so  long  as  one  followed  the  spiritual  in 
stincts  aroused  by  right  living  and  a  true  desire  to 
help  one's  fellow  men !  That  is  what  Hunt  said  he 
longed  for. 

But  actually  what  he  longed  for  is  what  perhaps 
we  all  long  for  whether  we  know  it  or  not — appre- 


24  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

ciation.  Not  fulsome  praise,  not  a  mawkishly  senti 
mental  fawning  flattery.  He  desired  to  feel  that 
the  understanding  heart  of  the  community  appre 
hended  what  he  wished  to  do  and  respected  his 
effort  though  he  might  fall  short  of  the  goal. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  heart — understanding  or 
otherwise — in  Ditson  Corners.  Why!  A  wild 
Western  mining  camp,  such  as  Joe  said  Canyon 
Pass  was,  could  be  no  more  ungrateful  a  soil  to 
cultivate  than  this  case-hardened,  hide-bound,  self- 
centered  and  utterly  uncharitable  Berkshire  com 
munity. 

The  thought — not  even  audibly  expressed — never 
theless  shocked  Hunt. 

Hunt  reached  for  the  letter  again.  What  had 
Joe  said  about  there  being  a  field  for  religious  en 
deavor  in  Canyon  Pass?  It  was  along  in  the  first 
part  of  the  screed,  and  when  he  had  found  it  he 
read : 

Joshing  aside,  Willie,  I  believe  you  might  dig  down  to 
the  very  heart  of  Canyon  Pass — and  I  believe  it  has  a 
heart.  You  were  such  a  devil  of  a  fellow  for  getting  at 
the  tap-root  of  a  subject.  If  anybody  can  electrify  the 
moral  fiber  of  Canyon  Pass — as  some  of  them  say  I  have 
the  business  part — it  will  be  a  man  like  you.  You  could 
do  the  "Lazarus,  arise!"  stunt  if  anybody  could — make 
the  composite  moral  man  of  Canyon  Pass  get  up,  put  on 
a  boiled  shirt,  and  go  forth  a  decent  citizen.  And  believe 
me,  the  composite  figure  of  the  moral  man  here  sadly 
needs  such  an  awakening. 

There  was  something  that  gripped  Hunt  in  the 
rough  and  ready  diction  of  this  letter — something 


Discontent  at  Ditson  Corners         25 

that  aroused  his  imagination.  It  brought  to  his 
mind,  too,  a  picture  of  Joe  himself — a  picture  of 
both  his  physical  and  his  mental  proportions. 

The  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  was  no  pigmy 
himself,  nor  did  he  lack  courage  and  vigor.  He  was 
good  to  look  upon,  dark  without  being  sallow, 
crowned  with  a  thick  brush  of  dull  black  hair — 
there  were  some  brown  lights  in  it — possessing  good 
features,  keen  gray  eyes,  broad  shoulders,  a  hun 
dred  and  eighty  pounds  of  gristle  and  flesh  on  a  per 
fect  bony  structure,  and  could  look  over  a  six-barred 
gate  before  he  vaulted  it.  He  had  not  allowed  his 
spiritual  experiences,  neither  rising  nor  falling,  to 
interfere  with  his  gymnastics  or  his  daily  walk. 

But  Joe  Hurley  topped  Hunt  by  two  inches,  was 
broader,  hardier,  a  wholly  out-of-door  man.  Joe 
was  typically  of  the  West  and  the  wilderness.  He 
knew  the  open  places  and  the  tall  timber,  the  moun 
tains  and  the  canyons,  the  boisterous  waters  of  cas 
cade  and  rock-hemmed  river.  He  was  such  an  en 
tirely  different  being  from  Hunt  that  the  latter  had 
often  wondered  why  the  Westerner  had  made  such 
a  chum  and  confidant  of  him  during  those  two  years 
at  college. 

And  now  the  pastor  of  Ditson  Corners'  First 
Church  realized  that  Joe  Hurley  had  something 
that  he  wanted.  He  wished  he  was  with  Joe,  out 
there  in  that  raw  country.  He  felt  that  he  could  get 
nearer  to  mankind  out  there  and  perhaps — he  said 


26  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

it  reverently — nearer  to  the  God  he  humbly  desired 
to  serve.  He  thought  of  Betty. 

"She  needs  a  change  as  much  as  I  do.  How  does 
Joe  guess  that  she  is  becoming  exactly  a  prim,  re 
pressed,  narrow-thinking  woman,  and  a  Martha 
cumbered  by  many  cares?  She  needs  her  chance 
as  much  as  I  need  mine." 

He  heard  Betty's  step  on  the  porch,  and  in  a 
moment  she  entered  the  study,  her  hands  full  of 
those  grateful  mid-spring  flowers,  the  lily  of  the 
valley. 

Betty  Hunt  was  not  a  fragile  girl,  but  she  did 
not  possess  much  of  that  embonpoint  the  Greeks 
considered  so  necessary  to  beauty  of  figure.  Nor 
was  she  angular.  At  least,  her  grace  of  carriage 
and  credibly  tailored  frock  masked  any  lack  of  flesh. 

Slim  hands  she  had,  too, — beautiful  hands,  very 
white  and  with  only  a  faint  tracery  of  blue  veins 
upon  them.  Really,  they  were  a  musician's  hands — 
pliable,  light  of  touch,  but  strong.  The  deftness 
with  which  they  arranged  the  flowers  suggested  that 
she  did  not  need  vision  to  aid  in  the  task. 

Therefore  she  kept  her  gaze  on  Hunt.  He  felt 
it,  turned,  and  smiled  up  at  her.  He  shook  the  leaves 
of  the  letter  in  his  hand. 

"Bet,"  he  said,  "I've  got  another  letter  from  Joe 
Hurley." 

Betty's  countenance  changed  in  a  flash. 

"Oh!    That  Westerner?" 


Discontent  at  Ditson  Corners          27 

There  was  more  than  disapproval  in  her  tone. 
She  looked  away  from  him  quickly.  Her  own  gray 
eyes  filmed.  A  shocked,  almost  terrified  expression 
seemed  to  stiffen  all  her  face.  But  Hunt  did  not 
see  this. 

'There  is  no  use  talking,  Bet,"  her  brother  pur 
sued  in  an  argumentative  way,  thoughtfully  staring 
at  the  letter  again.  "There  is  no  use  talking.  Joe 
has  it  right.  We  are  vegetating  here.  Most  people 
in  towns  like  this,  here  in  the  East,  might  honestly 
be  classified  among  the  flora  rather  than  the  fauna* 
We're  like  rows  of  cabbages  in  a  kitchen  garden." 

"Why,  Ford!" 

He  grinned  up  at  her — a  suddenly  recalled 
grimace  of  his  boyhood. 

"There  speaks  the  cabbage,  Bet !  We're  all  alike 
— or  most  of  us  are.  Here  in  the  old  Common 
wealth  I  mean.  We're  afraid  to  step  aside  from 
the  rutted  path,  to  accept  a  new  idea;  really  afraid 
to  be  and  live  out  each  his  own  individuality. 

"Ah!     Out  in  this  place  Joe  writes  about " 

He  fingered  the  sheets  of  the  letter  again.  She 
watched  with  the  slow  fading  of  all  animation  from 
her  face — just  as  though  a  veil  were  drawn  across 
it  by  invisible  fingers.  Her  expression  was  not  so 
much  one  of  disapproval — her  eyes  held  something 
entirely  different  in  their  depths.  Was  it  fear? 

"This  Canyon  Pass  is  a  real  field  for  a  man's 
efforts,"  burst  out  Hunt  with  sudden  exasperation. 


28  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

*'I  tell  you,  Bet,  I  feel  as  though  my  usefulness  here 
had  evaporated.  I  haven't  a  thing  in  common  with 
these  people.  Carping  criticism  and  little  else  con 
fronts  me  whichever  way  I  turn." 

"You — you  are  nervous,  Ford." 

"Nerves!  What  right  has  a  man  like  me  with 
nerves?"  he  demanded  hotly. 

"But,  Ford — your  work  here?" 

"Is  a  failure.  Oh,  yes.  I  can  see  better  than  you 
do,  Bet — more  clearly — that  I  have  lost  my  grip  on 
these  people." 

"Surely  there  are  other  churches  in  the  East  that 
would  welcome  a  man  of  your  talents." 

"Aye!  Another  little  hard-baked  community  in 
which  I  shall  find  exactly  the  elements  that  have 
made  my  pastorate  here  a  failure." 

"You  are  not  a  failure!"  she  cried  loyally. 

"That's  nice  of  you,  Bet.  You  are  a  mighty 
good  sister.  But  I  am  letting  you  in  for  a  share 
of  the  very  difficulties  that  would  soon  put  gray  in 
my  hair  and  a  stone  in  my  bosom  instead  of  a 
heart." 

"Oh,  Ford!" 

"Out  there — in  some  place  like  this  Joe  writes 
about — would  be  a  new  and  unplowed  field.  A 
place  where  a  man  could  develop — grow,  not  vege 
tate." 

"But — but  must  it  necessarily  be  the  West,  Ford? 
I  am  not  fond  of  the  West." 


Discontent  at  Ditson  Corners          29 

"You've  never  seen  it." 

"I'm  not  fond  of  Western  people." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  dawning  smile.  "You're 
afraid  of  them,  Bet." 

"Yes.  I  am  afraid  of  them,"  whispered  his  sis 
ter,  turning  her  face  away  from  his  gaze.  "They 
are  not  our  kind,  Ford." 

"That's  exactly  it,"  he  cried,  smiting  the  desk 
with  the  flat  of  his  palm.  "We  need  to  get  out 
into  the  world,  among  people  who  are  just  as  differ 
ent  from  'our  kind,'  as  you  term  them,  as  possible. 
There  we  can  expand.  Out  in  Canyon  Pass.  I 
believe  I  could  be  a  real  help  to  that  community. 
What  is  it  Joe  says?"  He  glanced  again  at  the 
letter  before  him.  "Yes!  I  might  dig  down  to 
the  very  heart  of  Canyon  Pass.  Ditson  Corners  has 
merely  a  pumping  station  to  circulate  the  blood  of 
the  community,  patterned  after  the  one  at  the  reser 
voir  on  Knob  Hill." 

She  did  not  speak  again.  When  Hunt  looked 
around  she  had  stolen  from  the  room. 

"Poor  Bet!"  he  muttered.  "The  idea  of  change 
alarms  her  as  it  might  have  alarmed  Aunt  Prudence. 
Joe  Hurley  is  right — he's  right  beyond  a  doubt!" 


CHAPTER  III 

A  SHADOW   THROWN   BEFORE 

A  RIDER  had  his  choice  in  journeying  to  Canyon 
Pass  from  a  southerly  direction — say  from  Lamber- 
ton,  which  lies  between  the  railroad  and  the  desert — 
of  following  the  river  trail  to  be  deafened  by  the 
boisterous  voice  of  the  flood,  or  of  climbing  to  the 
high  lands  and  there  jogging  along  the  wagon  track 
which  finally  dipped  down  the  steeps  to  the  ford  of 
the  West  Fork  and  so  into  the  mining  town. 

Spring  was  drifting  into  the  background  of  the 
year.  The  cottonwood  leaves  were  the  size  of  squir 
rel  ears.  The  new  fronds  of  the  pifion  had  expanded 
to  full  size  and  now  their  needles  quivered  in  the 
heat  of  the  almost  summerlike  day.  Joe  Hurley, 
sitting  his  heavy-haunched  bay,  giving  as  easily  to 
the  animal's  paces  as  a  sack  of  meal,  followed  the 
wagon  track  rather  than  the  river  trail  and  so  came 
to  that  fork  where  wheel-ruts  from  a  westerly  direc 
tion  joined  the  road  along  the  brink  of  the  canyon 
wall. 

A  cream-colored  pony  came  cantering  along  the 
trail  from  Hoskins,  its  rider  as  gaily  dressed  as  a 
Mexican  vaquero — a  splotch  of  color  against  the 

30 


A  Shadow  Thrown  Before  311 

background  of  the  evergreens  almost  startling  to  his 
vision.  But  it  was  the  identity  of  this  rider  that 
invigorated  the  tone  of  the  mining  man's  reflections. 

"Nell  Blossom!  The  only  sure-enough  cure  for 
ophthalmia!  Am  I  going  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
being  your  escort  back  to  Canyon  Pass  ?  It  will  sure 
do  me  proud.  The  Passonians  are  honing  for  you, 
Nell." 

"I'm  going  back  to  the  Pass— yes,  Mr.  Hurley/1 
she  said,  pulling  down  her  pony  to  the  more  sedate 
pace  of  his  big  bay. 

"Where  you  been  since  you  left  us  all  in  the 
lurch?  There  was  almost  a  riot  at  the  Grub  Stake 
when  Tolley  found  out  you  had  gone." 

"Boss  Tolley  hasn't  got  anything  on  me,"  she  said 
defensively.  "I'd  never  sing  there  again,  anyway." 

"Somebody  said  you'd  lit  out  for  the  desert  with 
Steve  Siebert  and  Andy  McCann,"  and  he  chuckled. 
"They  started  the  same  day  you  vamoosed." 

"I  might  just  as  well  have  gone  with  those  old 
desert  rats.  Pocket  hunting  couldn't  be  much 
worse  than  Hoskins." 

"Great  saltpeter!  What  took  you  to  Hoskins?" 
exclaimed  Hurley.  "Where's  your  local  pride?  If 
you  weren't  born  at  Canyon  Pass,  you've  lived  there 
most  of  your  life.  You  shouldn't  encourage  a  dump 
like  Hoskins  to  believe  for  a  moment  that  it  has 
greater  attractions  than  the  Pass." 


32          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"If  I  thought  it  might  be  more  attractive,  I 
learned  better,"  she  said  shortly. 

"M other  Tubbs  got  a  letter  from  you,  but  she 
wouldn't  tell  us  where  you  were." 

"No,"  Nell  said.  "I  didn't  want  the  boys  riding 
over  there  and  starting  a  roughhouse  at  the  Tin  Can 
Saloon." 

"Great  saltpeter!"  exclaimed  Hurley  again. 
"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  been  caroling  your 
roundelays  in  that  place  ?" 

"A  girl  has  to  work  somewhere,  and  I  was  sick 
to  death  of  the  Grub  Stake." 

"Boss  Tolley  is  no  pleasant  citizen  and  his  joint 
is  no  sweet-scented  garden  spot,  I  admit,"  Hurley 
agreed.  "Personally  I'd  like  to  see  Tolley  run  out 
of  town  and  the  Grub  Stake  eliminated.  But  Colo 
rado  Brown  has  opened  a  new  place  and  is  going  to 
run  it  right — so  he  says." 

"That's  what  is  bringing  me  back,"  Nell  con 
fessed.  "He  got  word  to  me  by  Mother  Tubbs,  and 
he  made  me  a  better  offer  than  Tolley  ever  would. 
But  I  expect  one  cabaret  is  about  like  another  in 
these  roughneck  towns." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  the  man  said  defen 
sively.  "We  mean  to  try  to  clean  up  Canyon  Pass. 
The  boys  have  got  to  have  amusement.  Colorado 
Brown  is  a  white  man,  and,  if  he  gets  the  backing 
of  the  better  element,  he  can  give  a  good  show  and 


A  Shadow  Thrown  Before  33 

sell  better  hootch  and  better  grub  than  ever  Boss 
Tolley  dared  to." 

"Hootch  is  hootch/'  Nell  interrupted.  "It's  all 
bad.  There's  nothing  good  about  a  rotten  egg,  Mr. 
Hurley.  And  the  men's  money  is  wasted  in  all 
those  places — plumb  wasted!" 

He  had  been  watching  her  closely  as  they  talked. 
He  had  been  watching  Nell  closely,  off  and  on,  for 
several  years.  Like  many  of  the  other  young  and 
unattached  men  of  Canyon  Pass,  Joe  Hurley  had 
at  one  time  attempted  to  storm  the  fortress  of  Nell 
Blossom's  heart.  Finally  he  had  become  convinced 
that  the  girl  was  not  for  him. 

Joe  Hurley  neither  wore  his  heart  on  his  sleeve 
nor  was  he  unwise  enough  to  anger  Nell  by  forcing 
his  attentions  beyond  that  barrier  she  had  raised 
between  them.  His  were  merely  the  objections  of 
any  clean-minded  man  when  he  had  seen  her  yield 
ing  to  the  machinations  of  Dick  the  Devil.  Joe  knew 
the  gambler's  kind. 

He  had  felt  no  little  anxiety  when,  with  the  usual 
spring  exodus  of  the  two  old  desert  rats,  Steve 
Siebert  and  Andy  McCann,  Nell  and  Dick  Beck- 
worth  had  likewise  disappeared  from  the  Grub 
Stake.  Dick,  of  course,  had  settled  with  Boss 
Tolley;  he  intimated  that  he  was  starting  north  for 
the  railroad  at  Crescent  City.  The  hour  had  been 
so  early  that  nobody  else  had  chanced  to  see  the 
gambler  and  the  girl  ride  away.  Nell  was  missed 


34  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

later,  and  all  the  right  thinking  men  of  the  town, 
although  they  said  little,  feared  the  worst  for  Nell 
Blossom. 

Nell  had  displayed  at  the  last  some  little  interest 
in  Dick  the  Devil.  The  other  girls  at  the  Grub 
Stake  gossiped  about  it. 

Then  came  Mother  Tubbs  with  a  bona-fide  letter 
from  the  girl  to  dam  the  flood  of  gossip.  Nell  was 
working  as  usual  in  a  cabaret.  She  had  left  Boss 
Tolley  because  she  could  not  stand  him  any  longer. 
She  was  bitter  about  the  Grub  Stake  and  its  pro 
prietor.  And  not  a  word  in  the  letter  about  Dick 
Beckworth.  It  was  plain,  even  to  the  most  suspi 
cious,  that  Dick  had  not  gone  with  her  after  all. 

These  few  facts  colored  Joe  Hurley's  thoughts  as 
they  rode  along  the  track.  What  colored  Nell's? 

When  the  sprightly  talk  lapsed  between  them,  the 
girl's  face  fell  into  unhappy  lines.  She  who  had 
been  as  blithe  as  a  field  lark  all  her  life  was  showing 
to  Joe  Hurley  for  the  first  time  a  most  unnatural 
soberness  of  spirit.  Her  eyes,  their  gaze  fixed 
straight  ahead,  were  filmed  with  remoteness  that 
his  friendly  glance  could  not  penetrate. 

Something  had  changed  Nell  Blossom.  She  was 
no  longer  the  happy-go-lucky  girl  she  had  been 
heretofore.  He  wondered  if,  after  all,  her  affair 
with  Dick  Beckworth  was  serious. 

They  skirted  the  Overhang,  their  horses  now  at 
a  canter.  Nell  suddenly  pulled  in  her  mount  at  a 


A  Shadow  Thrown  Before  35 

place  where  a  patch  along  the  brink  of  the  treacher 
ous  cap  had  recently  crumbled. 

"Looks  as  if  there  might  have  been  a  small  slide," 
observed  Hurley  cheerfully. 

"Was — was  anybody  hurt?" 

"Reckon  not.  Just  about  where  the  big  slide 
was  years  ago.  There  are  always  bits  dropping 
down  this  cliff.  I  tell  'em  there's  bound  to  be  an 
other  landslip  some  time  that  will  play  hob  with 
Runaway  River  and  maybe  flood  out  the  town 
again.  It's  like  living  over  a  volcano." 

Nell  still  looked  back  at  the  broken  edge  of  the 
cliff.  "Nobody  missing,  then?  Nobody — er — left 
town?" 

He  laughed.  "Nobody  but  you  and  old  Steve  and 
Andy  McCann.  Those  old  desert  rats  lit  out  the 
same  morning  you  left  town.  Hold  on!  I  don't 
know  as  you  know  it;  but  Dick  Beckworth  went 
about  that  time.  He's  gone  to  Denver,  so  Tolley 
says,  to  deal  faro  at  a  big  place  there." 

He  could  not  see  the  girl's  face.  As  far  as  he 
knew  the  statement  made  no  impression  upon  her. 
They  jogged  on  practically  in  silence  until  they 
came  to  the  point  where  the  wagon-track  plunged 
steeply  to  the  ford  of  the  West  Fork,  and  from 
which  spot  the  squalid  town  was  first  visible. 

"Ugh!"  Nell  shuddered  and  glanced  at  Joe 
again.  "It  is  such  an  ugly  place." 


36          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Where's  your  civic  pride,  Nell?"  and  the  other 
chuckled. 

"What  is  there  to  be  proud  of?"  was  her  sharp 
demand. 

"It's  a  money-making  town." 

"Money!" 

"Quite  a  necessary  evil,  that  same  money,"  he 
rejoined.  "Gold  is  a  good  foundation  to  build  a 
town  upon.  Canyon  Pass  has  'got  a  future  in  front 
of  it,'  as  the  feller  said.  Business  is  booming.  Bank 
deposits  are  increasing.  Three  families  have  bought 
piano-players,  and  there  are  at  least  a  dozen  talking 
machines  in  town — besides  the  female  citizens,"  and 
he  laughed  again. 

"All  that?"  in  a  sneering  tone.  "Still,  the  bulk 
of  the  wages  from  the  mines  and  washings  are 
spent  for  drink  and  in  gambling.  The  increase  in 
bank  deposits  I  bet  are  made  by  the  merchants  and 
honkytonk  keepers,  Mr.  Hurley.  Canyon  Pass  is 
prosperous — yes.  But  at  the  expense  of  everything 
decent  and  everybody's  decency.  Mother  Tubbs  has 
got  it  right.  Canyon  Pass  hasn't  got  a  heart" 

"Oh— heart!" 

"Yes,  heart.  There's  neither  law  nor  gospel,  she 
says.  Only  such  law  as  is  enforced  at  the  muzzle 
of  the  sheriff's  gun.  And  as  far  as  religion  goes — 
when  was  there  ever  a  parson  in  Canyon  Pass  ?" 

"They're  rare  birds,  I  admit.  But  you  needn't 
blame  me,  Nell." 


A  Shadow  Thrown  Before  37 

"I  do  blame  you !"  she  exclaimed  fiercely.  "You're 
at  fault — you,  and  Slickpenny  Norris  who  runs  the 
bank,  and  Bill  Judson  of  the  Three  Star,  and  the 
manager  of  the  Oreode  Company,  and  the  other 
more  influential  men.  It  is  your  fault  that  there 
isn't  a  church  and  other  civilized  things  in  Canyon 
Pass." 

"Great  saltpeter,  Nell !  You're  not  wailing  for  a 
Sunday  School  and  a  sky  pilot?" 

"Me?  I  reckon  not!"  She  almost  spat  out  the 
scornful  denial.  "I'm  just  telling  you  what  your 
old  Canyon  Pass  is.  It's  a  back  number.  But  I'm 
free  to  confess  if  a  parson  and  a  crew  of  psalm- 
singing  tenderfoots  came  here,  I'd  like  enough  pull 
my  freight  again — and  that  time  for  keeps!  Even 
Hoskins  would  be  more  endurable." 

At  this  outburst  Joe  Hurley  broke  into  laughter. 
Nell  Blossom  was  paradoxical — had  always  been. 

And  yet,  what  Nell  had  said  about  the  short 
comings  of  Canyon  Pass  stuck  in  Joe  Hurley's  mind. 
Within  a  few  days  the  thought,  fermenting  within 
him,  resulted  in  that  letter  which  had  so  interested 
— not  to  say  excited — the  Reverend  Willett  Ford 
Hunt  in  far-away  Ditson  Corners. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PHILOSOPHY   BOUND   IN    HOMESPUN 

"No,  there  ain't  no  news — no  news  a-tall," 
declared  Mrs.  Sam  Tubbs,  comfortably  rocking. 
"Nothing  ever  happens  in  Canyon  Pass.  For  a 
right  busy  town  on  its  main  street,  there's  less  hap 
pens  in  the  back  alleys  than  in  any  camp  I  ever  seen 
— and  I  seen  a-plenty. 

"It's  in  the  back  alleys  o'  life,  Nell,  that  the  inter 
esting  things  happen.  Folks  buy  and  sell,  and 
argue  and  scheme,  and  otherwise  play  the  fool  out 
on  the  main  streets.  But  in  the  alleys  babies  is 
born,  and  people  die,  and  boys  and  gals  make  love 
and  marry.  Them's  the  re'lly  interesting  things  in 
life." 

"Ugh !  Love  and  marriage !  They  are  the  big 
gest  fool  things  the  world  knows  anything  about." 

Mother  Tubbs  chuckled.  It  was  an  unctuous 
chuckle.  It  shook  her  great  body  like  a  violent 
explosion  in  a  jelly-bag  and  made  the  wide-armed 
rocking-chair  she  sat  in  creak. 

"Sho!"  she  said.  "I've  heard  seventeen-year-old 
gals  say  as  much  'fore  now,  who  dandled  their 
second  young-un  on  their  knee  'fore  they  was 

38 


Philosophy  Bound  in  Homespun       39 

twenty.  The  things  we're  least  sure  of  in  this 
world  is  love  and  marriage.  Lightning  ain't  nothin' 
to  'em — nothin'! 

"Now,  there's  Mr.  Joe  Hurley " 

Nell  started,  turned  on  the  top  step  of  the  Tubbs' 
back  porch,  and  looked  searchingly  at  the  old  woman 
with  a  frown  on  her  brow. 

"Now,  there's  Mr.  Joe  Hurley,"  pursued  Mother 
Tubbs  placidly.  "There  ain't  a  thing  the  matter 
with  that  man  but  that  he  needs  a  wife." 

"Why  doesn't  he  take  one,  then  ?"  demanded  Nell 
wickedly.  "There  are  plenty  of  them  around  here 
whose  husbands  don't  seem  to  care  anything  about 
them." 

"Like  me  and  my  Sam,  heh  ?"  put  forth  Mother 
Tubbs,  still  amused.  "But  I  reckon  if  Mr.  Joe 
Hurley,  or  any  other  man,  should  attempt  to  run 
away  with  me,  Sam  would  go  gunning  for  him. 
What  they  call  the  'first  law  of  Nater'— which  is  the 
sense  of  possession,  not  self-preservation — would 
probably  get  to  working  in  Sam's  mind. 

"He'd  get  to  thinking  of  my  flapjacks  and  chicken- 
with-fixin's  and  his  bile  would  rise  'gainst  the  man 
— no  matter  who — who  was  enjoying  them  victuals. 

"Oh,  yes.  Not  only  is  the  way  to  a  man's  heart 
through  his  stomach;  but  believe  me,  Nell,  most 
men  are  like  those  people  the  Bible  speaks  of  'whose 
god  is  their  stomach/  " 


40          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Does  the  Bible  say  that,  Mother  Tubbs?"  broke 
in  the  girl. 

"Somethin'  near  to  it." 

"Then  there  is  some  sense  in  the  Bible,  isn't 
there?" 

"Hush-er-you,  Nell  Blossom!"  ejaculated  the  old 
woman  sternly.  "Does  seem  awful  that  you're 
such  a  heathen.  The  Bible's  plumb  full  of  good 
advice,  and  lovely  stories,  and  sweet  truths.  I  used 
to  read  it  a  lot  before  I  broke  my  specs.  But  I 
remember  lots  that  I  read,  thanks  be." 

"I  don't  care  for  stories,"  said  the  girl  crossly. 
"And  I  don't  know  that  I  believe  there  is  a  heaven," 
she  went  on  quickly.  "Once  you  are  dead  I  reckon 
that's  all  there  is  to  it.  I  won't  learn  any  more 
songs  about  heaven.  I  used  to  cry  over  them— and 
about  folks  dying.  I  remember  the  first  song  Dad 
taught  me  to  sing  in  the  saloons.  It  used  to  make 
me  cry  when  I  came  to  the  verse : 

Last  night  as  I  lay  on  my  pillow — 
Last  night  as  I  lay  on  my  bed — 

Last  night  as  I  lay  on  my  pillow, 
I  dreamt  that  my  Bonnie  was  dead. 
Bring  back !  Oh,  bring  back ! 
Bring  back  my  Bonnie  to  me,  to  me 

It's  all  stuff  and  nonsense!"   she  broke  off  with 
confidence. 

"That  ain't  a  hymn,"  said  Mother  Tubbs  placidly. 
"Hymns  is  different,  Nell.  A  good,  uplifting  hymn 


Philosophy  Bound  in  Homespun       41 

like  'Am  I  a  Soldier  of  the  Cross/  or  'Beulah  Land/ 
takes  you  right  out  of  yourself — bears  your  heart 
up  on  wings  o'  hope  and  helps  you  forget  you're 
only  a  poor,  miserable  worm " 

"I'm  not  a  worm!"  interrupted  Nell  with  vigor. 
"I'm  as  good  as  anybody — as  good  as  anybody  in 
Canyon  Pass,  anyway,  even  if  some  of  these  women 
do  look  down  on  me." 

"Of  course  you  are,  Nell.  'Worm'  is  just  a 
manner  o'  speaking." 

"Dad  trained  me  to  sing  in  these  saloons,  I 
know,"  went  on  the  girl  quickly,  angrily,  "because 
he  was  too  weakly  to  use  a  pick  and  shovel.  We 
had  to  eat,  and  he  thought  he  had  to  have  drink. 
So  I  had  to  earn  it.  But  I've  been  a  good  girl." 

"I  never  doubted  it,  Nell,"  Mother  Tubbs  has 
tened  to  say.  "Nobody  could  doubt  it  that  knowed 
you  as  well  as  I  do."  She  let  her  gaze  wander  over 
the  squalid  back  yards  of  the  row  of  shacks  of 
which  the  Tubbs'  domicile  was  no  better  than  its 
neighbors.  "They  don't  know  you  like  I  do,  Nell. 
You've  lived  with  me  for  three  years — all  the  time 
you  was  growing  into  a  woman,  as  ye  might  say. 
You  hafter  do  what  you  do,  and  I  don't  'low  when 
we  are  forced  into  a  job,  no  matter  what  it  is,  that 
it's  counted  against  us  as  a  sin." 

Nell  flashed  the  placid  old  woman  another  glance. 
There  was  something  hidden  behind  that  look — of 
late  there  was  something  secretive  in  all  Nell 


42          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Blossom  said  or  did.  Did  Mother  Tubbs  understand 
that  this  was  so?  Was  she,  in  her  rude  but  kindly 
way,  offering  a  sympathy  that  she  feared  to  put 
into  audible  speech  for  fear  of  offending  the  proud 
girl? 

The  latter  suddenly  laughed,  but  it  was  not  the 
songbird's  note  her  voice  expressed.  There  was 
something  harsh — something  scornful — in  it. 

"I  reckon  I  could  get  away  with  murder,  and 
you'd  say  I  was  all  right,  Mother  Tubbs,"  she  de 
clared. 

"Well,  mebbe,"  the  old  woman  admitted,  her  eyes 
twinkling. 

"Suppose — "  said  Nell  slowly,  her  face  turned 
away  again,  "suppose  a  party  was  the  cause  of  an 
other's  death — even  if  he  deserved  it — but  didn't 
mean  just  that — suppose,  anyway,  what  you  did 
caused  a  man's  death,  for  whatever  reason,  although 
unintended?  Would  it  be  a  sin,  Mother  Tubbs?" 

She  might  have  been  reflecting  upon  a  quite  casual 
supposition  for  all  her  tone  and  manner  betrayed. 
Just  how  wise  Mother  Tubbs  was — just  how  far- 
seeing — no  human  soul  could  know.  The  old 
woman  had  seen  much  and  learned  much  during  her 
long  journey  through  a  very  rough  and  wicked 
world. 

"I  tell  you,  Nell,"  Mother  Tubbs  observed,  "it's 
all  according  to  what's  in  our  hearts,  I  reckon.  If 
what  we  done  caused  a  party  to  die,  and  we  had 


Philosophy  Bound  in  Homespun       43 

death  in  our  heart  when  we  done  the  thing  that 
killed  him,  I  reckon  it  would  be  a  sin.  No  getting 
around  that.  For  we  can't  take  God's  duties  into 
our  hands  and  punish  even  the  wickedest  man  with 
death — like  we'd  crunch  a  black  beetle  under  our 
bootsole.  'Vengeance  is  Mine;  I  will  repay,  saith 
the  Lord/ '  She  repeated  the  phrase  with  rever 
ence.  "No,  sin  is  sin.  And  because  a  party  de 
serves  to  be  killed,  in  our  opinion,  don't  excuse  our 
killing  him." 

Nell  was  quite  still  for  a  minute.  Then  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Humph !"  she  said  briskly.  "I  don't  think  much 
of  your  religion,  Mother  Tubbs.  No,  I  don't." 

Mother  Tubbs  began  to  croon : 

It's  the  old-style  religion, 
The  old-style  religion, 
The  old-style  religion, 

That  gets  you  on  your  way. 
'Twas  good  enough  for  Moses, 
Good  enough  for  Moses — 
The  old-style  religion, 

That  gets  you  on  your  way. 

"It  ain't  no  new-fangled  religion,  Nell.     But  it's 

comforting " 

"It  wouldn't  comfort  me  none,"  answered  the 
girl.  "I  reckon  it  ain't  religion — and  a  sky  pilot — 
that  Canyon  Pass  needs  after  all.  If  we'd  just  run 
about  fifty  of  these  tramps  out  of  town — and  Boss, 


44          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Tolley  and  his  gang — we  could  get  along  without 
psalm-singing  and  such  flubdubbery." 

"You  ain't  talking  like  you  used  to,  Nell,"  said 
the  old  woman,  observing  her  curiously. 

"I  hadn't  thought  so  much  about  it.  Religion  is 
too  soft.  These  roughnecks  would  ride  right  over 
a  parson  and — and  that  kind.  Now,  wouldn't 
they?'' 

"Not  altogether.  I  expect  they'd  try—at  first 
But  if  a  man  had  enough  grace  in  him,  he'd  stand  up 
against  'em." 

"He'd  better  have  backbone." 

"Same  thing,"  chuckled  Mother  Tubbs.  "Same 
thing.  It  takes  the  grace  of  God  to  stiffen  a  man's 
backbone — I  tell  you  true.  I  hope  this  parson  Mr. 
Joe  Hurley  talks  about  has  got  plenty  of  grace." 

"Who— what?"  gasped  the  girl.  "What  parson?" 

"Well,  now!  That  is  a  gob  o'  news.  But  I 
thought  you  must  o'  heard  it — over  to  Colorado 
Brown's,  or  somewhere — the  way  you  was  talkin*. 
This  parson  is  a  friend  of  Mr.  Joe  Hurley,  and  he 
wants  to  get  him  out  yere." 

"From  the  East?" 

"Yeppy.  Mr.  Joe  says  he  went  to  school  with 
him.  And  he's  some  preacher." 

"What  do  you  think  o'  that!"  ejaculated  Nell. 
"Mr.  Hurley  didn't  say  anything  to  me  about  it  the 
day  we  rode  into  the  Pass  together." 


Philosophy  Bound  in  Homespun       45 

"I  reckon  not.  This  has  all  been  hatched  up  since 
then." 

"But,  Mother  Tubbs !"  cried  the  girl.  "You  don't 
expect  any  tenderfoot  parson  can  come  in  here  and 
make  over  Canyon  Pass  ?" 

"I  reckon  not.  We  folks  have  got  to  make  our 
selves  over.  But  we  need  a  leader — we  need  a 
Shower  of  the  Way.  We've  lost  our  eyesight — 
the  best  of  us — when  it  comes  to  seeing  God's  ways. 
My  soul !  I  couldn't  even  raise  a  prayer  in  confer 
ence  meeting  no  more.  But  I  used  to  go  reg'lar 
when  I  was  a  gal — played  the  melodeon — led  the 
singin' — and  often  got  down  on  my  knees  in  public 
and  raised  a  prayer." 

"Humph!"  scoffed  the  girl.  "If  God  answered 
prayer,  I  bet  you  prayed  over  Sam  enough  to  have 
cured  him  of  getting  drunk  forty  times  over!" 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know,"  returned  Mother 
Tubbs  thoughtfully.  "I  been  thinking  lately  that, 
mebbe  when  I  was  praying  to  God  to  save  Sam  from 
his  sins,  I  was  cursing  Sam  for  his  meanness!  I 
ain't  got  as  sweet  a  disposition  as  I  might  have, 
Nell." 

"Oh,  yes  you  have,  Mother  Tubbs!"  exclaimed 
Nell,  and  suddenly  jumped  up  to  kiss  the  old  woman 
warmly.  "You're  a  dear,  sweet  old  thing!" 

"Well,  now,"  rejoined  Mother  Tubbs  compla 
cently,  "I  ought  to  purr  like  any  old  tabby-cat  for 
that." 


CHAPTER  V 

HOW  THE  PASSONIANS  TOOK  IT 

"WELL,"  observed  Bill  Judson  oracularly,  "it's 
about  time  for  something  new  to  break  in  Canyon 
Pass.  About  once  in  so  often  even  a  dead-an'-alive 
camp  like  this  yere  has  got  to  feel  the  bump  of 
progress  from  the  train  behind.  Otherwise  we'd 
stay  stalled  till  Gabriel's  trump." 

He  spoke  to  Smithy,  his  single  clerk  at  the  Three 
Star  Grocery.  He  had  to  speak  to  Smithy,  or  to 
the  circumambient  air,  for  nobody  but  the  gangling 
clerk  was  within  hearing.  They  lounged  on  the 
store  porch  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  the 
only  other  thing  alive  on  the  main  street  of  Canyon 
Pass  was  a  wandering  burro  browsing  on  the  tufts 
of  grass  edging  the  shallow  gutters. 

"I  don't  see  as  Canyon  Pass  has  got  to  be 
bumped  by  a  gospel  sharp  to  wake  it  up,"  complained 
Smithy,  stretching  his  arms  as  though  they  were 
elastic.  "Yahhoo!  Well,  he'll  have  a  sweet  time 
here,  Mr.  Judson." 

"I    dunno,"    said    the    storekeeper    reflectively. 
"For  my  part  I  feel  like  I  favored  it." 
*  'Cause  it's  something  new  ?" 
4,6 


How  the  Passonians  Took  It         47 

"  'Cause  it's  something  needed.  I  ain't  one  of 
those  fellers  that  run  after  every  new  thing  just 
because  it  is  new.  But  I'm  for  progress.  I  want 
to  see  the  Pass  get  ahead.  Crescent  City  and 
Lamberton  have  both  got  churches  and  parsons." 

"And  they've  got  railroads,"  put  in  Smithy, 
making  a  good  point.  "Canyon  Pass  needs  the  rail 
road  more'n  it  does  a  parson." 

"Son,"  proclaimed  Judson,  "before  Canyon  Pass 
can  get  a  railroad  connection,  mountains  have  got 
to  be  moved  and  the  meanest  stretch  of  desert  that 
ever  spawned  lizards,  sidewinders  and  cacti,  and 
produce  in  their  places  about  five  hundred  square 
mile  of  irrigated  farmland  to  pay  for  spiking  the 
rails  to  the  sleepers.  See  ?" 

"Well,  the  farms  might  come,"  declared  Smithy 
defensively. 

"Sure.  So  might  Christmas  come  at  Fourth  o' 
July.  But  we  ain't  never  celebrated  the  two  holi 
days  together  yet.  No,  sir.  To  irrigate  the  edge 
of  that  desert  even,  a  dam  would  have  to  be  built 
across  the  southern  outlet  of  the  canyon,  and  that 
would  back  the  water  up  yere  in  freshet  season  till 
the  roof  of  my  shack  would  be  so  deep  under  the 
surface  that  about  all  I  could  properly  keep  in  stock 
would  be  perch  and  rainbow  trout. 

"They  ain't  building  branch  railroads  no  more 
to  mining  camps  like  Canyon  Pass.  That's  why  we 
all  chipped  in  for  the  stamp  mill  and  the  cyanide 


48  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

plant  Nop.  We'll  freight  in  our  supplies  with 
mules  and  communicate  with  the  more  effete  cen 
ters  of  civilization  by  stagecoach  for  some  time  to 
come  I  reckon. 

"That  being  the  case  we  got  to  uplift  ourselves 
without  the  help  of  the  iron  horse,  as  the  feller  said. 
And  having  a  church  and  a  parson  is  uplifting." 

"Nobody  ain't  talked  very  brash  about  a  church." 

"Parson  comes  first.  Naturally.  Of  course  this 
friend  of  Joe  Hurley  is  only  coming  on  a  visit  at 
first." 

"He'll  have  a  sweet  visit  here,"  repeated  Smithy. 

"That's  according,"  said  Judson.  "We  got  to  be 
hospitable.  If  a  judge,  or  a  senator,  or  a  school 
teacher,  or  even  a  drummer  sellin'  fishin'  tackle, 
came  yere  we'd  feel  like  we  wanted  to  show  him 
the  town's  best  side.  Why  not  this  parson  ?" 

"Huh!  A  drummer  don't  try  to  convert  us 
and  innovate  psalm-singing  and  such,"  grumbled 
Smithy. 

"Son,"  drawled  Judson,  his  eyes  twinkling  under 
his  bushy  brows,  "you're  convicted  of  sin  right  now. 
You're  scare't  of  this  parson — and  that's  the 
trouble  with  most  of  you  fellers  who  are  raising  a 
yawp  against  progress  as  represented  by  this 
Reverend  Hunt" 

"'Taint  only  us  fellers,"  grumbled  Smithy. 
"Some  of  the  womenfolk  ain't  pleased.  Say!  Nell 
says  she  don't  want  no  black-coated  parson  in  this 


How  the  Passonians  Took  It         49 

camp.  Says  it  would  give  her  the  willies,  so  she 
couldn't  sing." 

It  was  an  indisputable  fact — Joe  Hurley  himself 
had  discovered  it — that  the  Passonians  were  divided 
upon  the  matter  of  the  expected  coming  of  the 
Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt.  The  sheep  and  the 
goats  that  had  heretofore  milled  together  in  a  gen 
eral  herd,  were  dividing  upon  strictly  religious  lines. 
Joe  was  somewhat  surprised.  Some  of  the  very 
people  he  had  presumed  would  welcome  the  innova 
tion,  were  suspicious  of  it. 

Mr.  Robertson  Norris,  "Slickpenny"  Norris  was 
his  undignified  appellation,  became  quite  red  of  face 
and  beat  rather  a  futile  fist  upon  the  banking  counter 
as  he  gave  his  opinion  to  Joe  Hurley.  Norris  was 
a  puny-looking,  string-bean  sort  of  man.  The  height 
of  rage  could  not  have  made  his  appearance  impres 
sive. 

"Joe  Hurley,  you  are  a  director  of  this  bank,  and 
your  last  statement  of  the  Great  Hope  shows  that 
you  are  a  good  mining  man.  I  find  on  most  sub 
jects  you  display  good  sense.  But  on  this  question 
you're  all  wrong — all  wrong !" 

"I  don't  get  you — I  don't  get  you  at  all,"  drawled 
Hurley.  "A  moral  man  like  you,  Norris,  I  reckoned 
would  welcome  the  idea  of  having  a  parson  in  the 
town." 

"I  have  no  quarrel  with  parsons — none  at  all, 
Joe,"  declared  the  banker.  "But  Canyon  Pass  is  in 


50          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

no  present  shape — financially,  I  mean — to  contem 
plate  the  building  of  a  church  edifice.  A  church  is 
something  you  can't  tax,  and  it  brings  in  absolutely 
no  revenue  to  the  town.  It's  not  an  asset,  but  a 
liability,  and  the  Pass  can't  afford  any  such  luxuries 
at  this  time." 

"Great  saltpeter!" 

"Listen  to  me,  Joe  Hurley!  I've  advocated 
proper  town  improvements,  even  when  they  take 
the  skin  off  my  own  nose,  and  always  will.  I  am 
strong  for  Main  Street  being  paved  and  sidewalks 
laid,  though  'twould  cost  me  a  pretty  penny.  We 
ought  to  set  out  trees.  Them  oil  lamps  on  wooden 
posts  are  a  disgrace.  I'd  make  every  merchant  paint 
the  front  of  his  buildings  on  Main  Street  once  a 
year,  by  law." 

"Well!  What's  the  matter  with  a  church?"  de 
manded  Hurley.  "That  is,  if  we  get  that  far." 

"It's  absolutely  no  use.  If  one  is  built  it  won't 
be  nothing  but  a  shack.  It  won't  add  anything  to 
the  importance  of  the  town.  No,  I  don't  approve. 
I'm  disappointed  in  you,  Joe." 

"All  right — all  right!"  cried  Joe  in  some  heat. 
"But  I'm  not  disappointed  in  you,  old-timer.  Great 
saltpeter!  I  wonder  what  you  did  before  you 
drifted  into  Canyon  Pass  that  a  parson  and  religion 
are  likely  to  bring  fresh  into  your  memory." 

With  this  backhand  slap  at  the  banker,  the  young 
man  went  out.  It  was  rather  odd  that  Joe  Hurley, 


How  the  Passonians  Took  It         51 

like  Bill  Judson,  should  suspect  the  Passonians  of 
the  same  secret  reason  for  not  desiring  a  spiritual 
refreshment  of  the  town.  But  then,  both  the  store 
keeper  and  the  owner  of  the  Great  Hope  were  ob 
servant  of  human  nature  and  knew  Canyon  Pass 
and  its  inhabitants  very  well. 

Joe  Hurley's  proposal  was  rattling  the  dry  bones. 
If  he  saw  two  men  conversing  on  the  street,  with 
both  their  arms  and  whiskers  waving  in  the  breeze, 
he  might  be  sure  the  topic  under  discussion  was  the 
coming  of  "that  gospel-sharp  Joe  Hurley's  sicked 
on  to  us." 

If  two  housewives  met  in  midflight  between  store 
and  store  in  the  course  of  a  forenoon's  shopping,  the 
principal  subject  of  gossip  was  bound  to  be  the 
possibility  of  a  parson  settling  in  Canyon  Pass. 
Nor  did  the  feminine  opinion  always  march  with 
that  of  Mother  Tubbs. 

In  spite  of  the  emancipation  of  the  sex  and  its 
introduction  to  the  high  office  of  the  ballot,  the 
women  of  the  mining  town  were — like  women 
everywhere  —  considerably  influenced  by  the  ex 
pressed  opinions  of  their  husbands,  brothers,  and 
sons.  If  Charlie  Raidlaw,  who  dealt  faro  for  Boss 
Tolley,  or  Phin  Shattuck,  one  of  Colorado  Brown's 
"gentlemanly  mixers,"  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  a 
white-liveried,  lily-handed  parson  was  going  to  be 
a  pest  in  the  town  and  sure  to  hurt  business,  Mrs. 
Charlie  and  Sue  Shattuck,  Phin's  sister,  were  pretty 


52  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

sure  to  scout  the  idea  that  a  parson  in  the  Pass 
would  be  any  improvement. 

"It's  needed,"  Rosabell  Pickett  announced  with 
conviction.  Rosabell  played  the  piano  in  the  Grub 
Stake,  painted  her  face  like  a  Piute  Indian,  dressed 
as  gaudily  as  a  circus  poster,  and  was  the  only  em 
ployee  Boss  Tolley  had  who  really  was  not  afraid 
of  him.  In  fact,  Rosabell  was  not  afraid  of  any 
man  and  had  small  respect  for  most ;  she  was  frank 
in  saying  so.  A  girl  can  be  a  piano  player  in  a 
honkytonk  and  be  long  on  self-respect.  Rosabell 
approved  of  herself — quite. 

"It's  needed,"  repeated  Rosabell.  "I  wish  he'd 
preach  in  the  street  out  there,  just  stir  up  the  people 
till  they  was  with  him,  every  one,  and  then  march 
in  here  with  an  ax  and  smash  every  hootch  bottle 
behind  your  bar,  Tolley — that's  what  I  wish." 

"You're  crazy,  Rosie !"  cried  the  proprietor  of  the 
Grub  Stake.  "I'd  hafter  go  a-gunnin'  for  any  man 
that  tried  to  smash  up  my  business  thataway,  and 
that  wouldn't  make  the  Grub  Stake  friends.  You 
oughtn't  to  bite  the  hand  that  feeds  you,  Rosie.  If 
it  wasn't  for  the  Grub  Stake — and  me — you 
wouldn't  be  wearin'  rhinestone  shoebuckles." 

"Is  that  so?"  countered  the  young  woman.  "You 
needn't  worry  none  about  my  biting  your  hand 
'nless  you  keep  it  washed  oftener  than  is  your  pres 
ent  habit.  And  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  don't  sell 


How  the  Passonians  Took  It          53 

my  opinions  when  I  take  the  Grub  Stake's  pay- 
envelope — not  much!" 

"Well,  I  wanter  see  that  dratted  parson  come  in 
yere!"  said  Tolley  blusteringly. 

"He  won't  come  alone,"  put  in  Hurley,  who  had 
been  listening  at  the  bar  to  the  argument. 

"Huh?" 

.."I  say  he  won't  come  in  here  alone.  I  might  as 
well  serve  notice  here  and  now  that  this  Parson 
Hunt  is  a  friend  of  mine.  I  don't  never  aim  to 
throw  a  friend  down  or  fail  him  when  he  gets  into 
a  jam.  If  he  comes  in  here — for  any  purpose, 
Tolley— I'll  likely  be  with  him." 

"You  keep  him  out  o'  yere !  You  keep  him  out !" 
blustered  the  other.  "We  don't  want  no  sky  pilots 
here  in  the  Pass.  Anyway,  I  won't  have  'em  in  the 
Grub  Stake." 

A  burly  fellow  in  overalls  and  riding  boots  broke 
in.  He  had  already  sampled  Tolley's  red-eye  more 
deeply  than  was  wise. 

"You  say  the  word,  boss,"  he  growled,  "and  we'll 
run  the  preacher  out  o'  town." 

Joe  Hurley  looked  at  the  ruffian  coldly.  "You 
won't  run  anybody  out  of  town,  Hicks — not  any," 
the  mine  owner  safd.  "But  I'll  tell  you  something 
that  may  be  worth  your  attention.  If  Canyon  Pass 
ever  gets  up  on  its  hind  legs  and  rares  and  starts 
to  run  certain  tramps  and  ne'er-do-wells  out  of 
town,  I'm  ready  to  lay  a  bet  with  any  man  that 


54          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

you'll  be  right  tip  in  the  forefront  of  them  that  are 
chased  out.  Get  me  ?" 

Hicks,  scowling,  dropped  his  hand  to  the  gunbutt 
peeping  above  the  waistband  of  his  overalls.  Joe 
Hurley  did  not  flicker  an  eyelash  nor  move  a  finger. 
Finally  Hicks  lurched  away  with  an  oath  and  went 
out  through  the  swinging  doors. 

"And  that's  that,"  said  Rosabell  briskly,  cutting 
the  tense  chord  of  silence.  "I  always  did  say  the 
more  of  a  boozer  a  man  is,  the  quicker  he'll  take 
water.  I  hope  your  friend  Mr.  Hunt,  Joe,  has  got 
backbone  same  as  you  have.  Is  he  an  old  gentle 
man?" 

"Not  so  you'd  notice  it,"  replied  Hurley  with  a 
sudden  grin. 

He  remained  awhile  to  bandy  repartee  with  Rosa- 
bell  and  some  of  the  other  idlers.  But  Boss  Tolley 
slipped  out  of  the  honkytonk,  although  he  did  not 
follow  Hicks. 

Mulligan  Lane  ran  at  the  rear  of  the  stores,  sa 
loons,  and  other  amusement  places  facing  this  side 
of  Main  Street.  Colorado  Brown's  cabaret  was  not 
far  from  Tolley's  rear  door.  It  was  dusk  of  rather 
a  sultry  day — a  day  that  had  forecast  the  heat  of  the 
approaching  summer. 

Tolley  lounged  under  the  withered  cottonwood 
behind  Brown's  dance-pavilion.  The  sign  of  the 
flood's  highwater  mark — that  flood  of  twenty  years 
before — had  been  cut  by  some  idle  knifeblade  deep 


How  the  Passonians  Took  It         55 

into  the  bole  of  the  tree  high  over  Tolley's  head, 
and  he  was  a  tall  man.  A  sallow-faced,  bony  giant 
of  a  man  was  Tolley,  hairy  and  brawny,  without  a 
redeeming  feature  in  his  cruel  countenance.  Had 
he  not  possessed,  in  the  memorable  words  of  Bill 
Judson,  "a  wishbone  where  his  backbone  should 
have  been,"  Boss  Tolley  would  have  been  a  very 
dangerous  man.  Lacking  personal  courage  he  de 
pended  upon  the  backing  of  men  like  Hicks  and  his 
bouncer,  Macpherson. 

He  slouched  now  under  the  tree  and  waited — a 
sullen  lump  of  a  figure  whose  dark  garments 
blended  with  the  shadowy  trunk  as  the  night  fell. 
The  small  figure  coming  up  the  slope  of  the  lane 
approached  the  back  door  of  Colorado  Brown's 
place  without  seeing  the  man  until  almost  within 
arm's  length. 

"Hey,  Nell!"  She  started,  looked  up,  stepped 
back  a  pace.  "Don't  be  scare't  of  me." 

"Don't  flatter  yourself,  Tolley,"  replied  the  girl 
curtly. 

"I  want  to  speak  with  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"Say — listen !  You  ain't  treating  me  right.  You 
walked  out  and  left  me  flat.  You  didn't  even  ask 
me  for  a  raise.  How'd  you  know  I  wouldn't  give 
you  as  much  as  Brown  does?" 

"I  didn't  want  to  know.  I  got  through.  You 
didn't  have  any  hold  on  me,  Tolley." 


56          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Mebbe  not.  Mebbe  I  have.  You  better  listen," 
for  the  girl  was  turning  scornfully  away.  "You 
and  Dick  played  it  low  down  on  me." 

Now  she  gave  him  her  full  attention.  It  was  so 
dark  under  the  tree  that  he  could  not  see  her  face 
clearly,  but  he  knew  some  sudden  emotion  shook 
her.  To  himself  he  grinned. 

'  (l  got  to  admit  my  losing  you  and  Dick  has  put 
a  crimp  in  the  Grub  Stake's  business.  You  was 
my  best  performer,  and  Dick  Beckworth  was  the 
best  card-sharp  I  had.  Looker  here!  You  come 
back  to  the  Grub  Stake  and — and  I  won't  say  noth 
ing  more." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  She  had  almost  instantly 
gained  control  of  herself.  "You  can  say  all  you 
like.  I  am  never  going  to  sing  in  your  joint  again." 

"You  ain't?" 

"No." 

"You  better  think  again."  His  voice  was  grim, 
menacing.  "I  can  say  something  you  won't  like  to 
hear." 

"Say  it."  She  spat  the  command  out  as  boldly 
as  was  her  usual  speech;  but  in  her  heart  sudden 
fear  fluttered  like  a  netted  bird. 

"I  been  tellin'  them  Dick  Beckworth  lit  out  for 
Crescent  City,  and  that  I  heard  later  he  was  dealing 
'em  in  Denver." 

"Dick  Beckworth?"  gasped  the  girl. 


How  the  Passonians  Took  It         57 

"Yeppy.  I  told  'em  that.  But  I  know  derned 
well  he  didn't  ride  north  that  day " 

"Why  do  you  speak  to  me  of  Dick  Beckworth?" 

She  tried  to  say  it  boldly,  calmly.  She  stared  at 
him  in  the  dusk,  her  figure  tense.  He  could  see 
her  blue  eyes  gleam  like  twin  sapphires. 

"I'm  telling  you.  Listen,"  whispered  Tolley 
hoarsely.  "I  could  show  'em  the  bones  of  Dick's 
hoss  in  the  gravel  below  the  Overhang — right  at  the 
edge  of  Runaway  River.  I  got  his  saddle  right  now 
in  my  big  safe.  What  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"Dick " 

"I  reckon  you  know  how  the  hoss  and  the  saddle 
went  over  the  cliff.  And  Dick  was  with  'em.  He 
wasn't  with  'em  when  I  raked  out  the  saddle.  Dick 
had  gone  to  some  place  a  dern  sight  more  distant 
than  Crescent  City — nor  yet  Denver." 

She  was  silent.  He  could  hear  her  quick,  labored 
breathing.  Satisfaction  fired  all  the  mean  soul  of 
the  man. 

"You  think  it  over,  Nell." 

He  turned  and  lurched  heavily  away.  The  girl 
stood  rooted  to  the  place,  more  shaken,  more  terri 
fied,  than  even  Boss  Tolley  suspected.  He  was  out 
of  sight  before  she  gained  strength  to  move. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   APPROACH 

IN  fairylike  traceries  the  tiny  drops  of  a  mistlike 
rain  embroidered  the  broad  pane  of  the  Pullman. 
Betty  Hunt  gazed  through  this  at  the  flying  fields 
and  woods,  the  panorama  of  the  railroad  fences,  and 
the  still  nearer  blur  of  telegraph  poles  with  that 
hopeless  feeling  a  sentenced  prisoner  must  have 
as  he  journeys  toward  the  prison  pen. 

Everything  she  cared  for  save  her  brother,  every 
thing  she  knew  and  that  was  familiar  to  her  daily 
life,  every  object  of  her  thought  and  interest,  was 
being  left  behind  by  the  onrush  of  the  train.  Time, 
with  a  big  besom,  was  sweeping  her  quiet  past  into 
the  discard — she  felt  it,  she  knew  it!  They  would 
never  go  back  to  Ditson  Corners  again,  or  to  Am- 
berly  where  they  had  lived  as  children  with  Aunt 
Prudence  or  to  any  similar  sanctuary. 

That  was  what  Betty  had  most  longed  for  since 
her  last  term  at  boarding  school,  which  had  ended 
for  her  so  abruptly  with  the  death  of  her  Aunt 
Prudence  Mason.  Her  last  previous  journey  by 
train  had  been  that  somber  one  to  the  funeral. 
When  Betty  and  her  brother  had  later  moved  to 

58 


The  Approach  59 

the  Ditson  Corners'  parsonage  they  had  done  so 
by  motor. 

The  drumming  of  the  wheels  over  the  rail-joints 
kept  time  with  the  swiftly  flying  thoughts  of  the 
girl.  She  lay  in  the  corner  of  the  broad,  tan-plush 
seat  like  a  crumpled  flower  that  had  been  carelessly 
flung  there.  Thoughts  of  that  last  train  journey 
seared  her  mind  in  hot  flashes,  as  summer  lightnings 
play  about  the  horizon  at  dusk. 

First  one  thing,  then  another,  she  glimpsed — 
mere  jottings  of  the  happenings  that  had  gone 
before  the  hurried  good-bys  at  school  and  the  anx 
ious  trip  homeward.  These  remembrances  now  were 
like  the  projection  of  a  broken  film  upon  the  moving 
picture  screen. 

And  those  trying,  anxious  weeks  which  followed 
the  funeral  while  Ford  was  completing  his  divinity 
course  and  received  his  ordination  and  which  came 
to  an  end  with  his  selection  as  pastor  of  the  First 
Church  at  Ditson  Corners!  All  through  these 
weeks  was  the  dull,  miserable  pain  of  disillusion  and 
horror  that  Betty  must  keep  to  herself.  She  could 
not  tell  Ford.  She  could  tell  nobody.  What  had 
happened  during  the  last  few  weeks  at  school  was 
a  secret  that  must  be  buried — buried  in  her  mind  and 
heart  as  deeply  as  Aunt  Prudence  was  buried  under 
the  flowering  New  England  sod. 

Betty,  with  her  secret,  was  like  a  hurt  animal 
that  hides  away  to  die  or  recover  of  its  wound  as 


60          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

nature  may  provide.  She  could  not  die.  She  knew 
that,  of  course,  from  the  first.  Time,  she  felt, 
would  never  erase  the  scar  upon  her  soul;  but  the 
wound  itself  must  heal. 

All  that — that  which  was  now  such  a  horror  in 
her  thought — she  had  hoped  to  bury  deeper  as  time 
passed.  She  had  devoted  herself  to  her  brother's 
needs.  She  had  made  his  comfort  her  constant  care. 
Busy  mind  and  busy  hands  were  her  salvation  from 
the  gnawing  regret  for  that  secret  happening  that 
she  believed  must  wither  all  her  life. 

Now  this  sudden  and  unlocked  for  change  had 
come  to  shake  up  all  her  fragile  plans  like  the  shift 
ing  of  a  kaleidoscope.  They  were  going  West, 
toward  the  land  she  hated,  toward  people  whom, 
she  told  herself,  she  had  every  reason  to  suspect 
and  fear.  Why  had  Ford  kept  up  his  correspond 
ence  with  that  Joe  Hurley?  Betty  did  not  blame 
her  brother  for  wishing  to  get  away  from  Ditson 
Corners.  But  why  need  it  have  been  that  Westerner 
who  offered  the  soul-sore  minister  the  refuge  that 
he  so  gladly  accepted  ? 

Betty,  without  a  clear  explanation,  had  no  rea 
son  to  oppose  to  Hunt's  desire  for  a  change  that 
would  satisfy  him.  And  such  explanation  she 
would  have  died  rather  than  have  given  him!  She 
was  swept  on  toward  the  West,  toward  whatever 
fate  had  in  store  for  her,  like  a  chip  upon  a  current 
that  could  not  be  stemmed. 


The  Approach  611 

Aunt  Prudence  had  left  her  money — conserva 
tively  invested — to  Betty;  but  she  was  not  to  touch 
the  principal  until  she  was  thirty.  "If  the  girl 
marries  before  that  age,  no  shiftless  man  can  get 
it  away  from  her,"  had  been  the  spinster's  frank 
statement  in  her  will.  "If  she  is  foolish  enough  to 
marry  after  that  age,  it  is  to  be  hoped  she  will  then 
have  sense  at  least  regarding  money  matters."  The 
brother  had  a  small  nest  egg  left  from  his  father's 
estate  after  paying  his  college  and  divinity  school 
expenses. 

So  they  were  not  wholly  dependent  upon  Hunt's 
salary.  He  could  afford  to  take  a  vacation,  and  it 
was  on  this  ground — the  need  of  rest — that  he  had 
resigned  from  the  pulpit  of  Ditson  Corners'  First 
Church.  They  had  left  some  really  good  friends 
behind  them  in  the  little  Berkshire  town — some 
who  truly  appreciated  the  young  minister.  But  the 
clique  against  him  had  shown  its  activity  much  too 
promptly  to  salve  Hunt's  pride.  His  resignation 
had  been  accepted  without  question,  and  he  had 
remained  only  to  see  Bardell  established  in  his 
place. 

Betty  condemned  herself  that  she  could  not  enter 
whole-heartedly  into  Hunt's  high  expectations  of 
the  new  field  that  lay  before  him.  It  was  adven 
ture — high  adventure — to  his  mind.  And  why 
should  a  parson  not  long  for  a  bigger  life  and 


62          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

broader  development  as  well  as  another  healthy 
man? 

He  was  going  to  Canyon  Pass  without  a  penny 
being  guaranteed  him.  Joe  Hurley  urged  him  to 
come;  but  he  told  him  frankly  that  there  would  be 
opposition.  Certain  Passonians  would  not  welcome 
a  parson  or  the  establishment  of  religious  worship. 

But  this  opposition  was  that  of  the  enemy.  The 
Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  was  not  afraid  of  the 
devil  in  an  open  fight.  Opposition  in  the  church 
itself  was  what  had  conquered  him  at  Ditson  Cor 
ners.  Let  the  phalanxes  of  wickedness  confront  him 
at  Canyon  Pass,  he  would  stand  against  them ! 

Betty  saw  him  coming  back  down  the  aisle  of  the 
car,  smiling  broadly,  a  handsome,  muscular  figure 
of  a  man.  He  did  not  look  the  cleric.  She  had  been 
so  used  to  seeing  him  in  the  black  frock-coat  and 
immaculate  white  collar  that  she  was  at  first  rather 
shocked  when  he  had  donned  another  suit  to 
travel  in. 

He  was  almost  boyish  looking.  He  was  a  big 
man,  and  she  believed  him  capable  of  big  things. 
She  could  almost  wish  he  had  selected  some  other 
road  in  life — although  that  thought  was  shocking 
to  her,  too.  Ford  might  well  have  been  a  business 
man,  an  engineer,  a  banker,  a  promoter.  Betty's 
ideas  were  somewhat  vague  about  business  life;  but 
she  felt  sure  Ford  would  have  shone  in  any  line. 
She  was  a  loyal  sister. 


The  Approach  63 

She  shook  herself  out  of  the  fog  of  her  own 
thoughts  and  smiled  up  at  him, 

"Met  a  man  in  the  smoking  room  who  knows 
that  country  about  Canyon  Pass  like  a  book,  Bet," 
Hunt  said,  dropping  down  beside  her.  "It  really  is 
a  part  of  the  last  frontier.  We  shall  always  be  a 
pioneer  people,  we  Americans.  There  is  something 
in  the  raw  places  of  the  earth  that  intrigues  us  all — 
save  the  saps.  And  sap,  even,  hardens  in  such  an 
environment  as  this  we  are  bound  for." 

"I  hope  you  will  not  be  disappointed,  Ford." 

"Disappointed?  Of  course  I  shall  be  disap 
pointed  and  heart-sick  and  soul-weary.  But  I 
believe  my  efforts  will  not  be  narrowed  and  cir 
cumscribed  and  bound  down  by  formalism  and 
caste.  As  Joe  says,  I  won't  be  'throwed  and  hog- 
tied.'  The  old-time  revivalists  used  to  urge  their 
converts  to  'get  liberty.'  I'll  get  liberty  out  there, 
I  feel  sure,  in  Canyon  Pass." 

She  could  say  nothing  to  dash  his  enthusiasm. 
It  was  too  late  for  that  now,  in  any  case.  Betty 
even  tried  to  smile.  But  her  face  felt  as  stiff  as 
though  it  were  like  to  crack  in  the  process. 

"All  that  territory  of  which  Canyon  Pass  is  the 
heart,"  pursued  Hunt,  "has  been  phenomenally  rich 
in  ore  in  past  time.  They  have  to  comb  the  mines 
and  sweep  the  hydraulic-washed  benches  very  scien 
tifically  now  to  make  the  game  pay.  Yet  Canyon 


64          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Pass  is  distinctly  a  mining  town  and  always 
must  be. 

"My  new  acquaintance  says  it  is  really  'wild  and 
woolly/  '  He  smiled  more  broadly.  "I  fancy  it 
is  all  Joe  said  it  is.  Crude,  rude,  roughneck — but 
honest.  If  I  can  dig  down  to  the  honest  heart  of 
Canyon  Pass,  Bet,  I  shall  succeed.  We'll  not  worry 
about  first  impressions,  or  the  lack  of  super- 
civilized  conveniences,  or  the  fact  that  men  don't 
often  shave,  and  the  women  wear  their  hair 
untidily.  Of  course,  I'll  make  you  as  comfortable 
as  possible " 

"I  can  stand  whatever  you  can,  Ford/'  she  inter 
rupted  with  brisk  conviction. 

"Well,"  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "that's  fine.  Oh, 
Bet!  This  is  the  life  we're  going  to.  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  happier  when  you  once  get  a  taste  of  it." 

But  she  made  no  reply. 

When  the  two  mountain-hogs,  drawing  and 
pushing  the  trans-continental  train  up  the  grade, 
ground  to  a  brief  stop  at  Crescent  City,  Betty  Hunt 
was  surprised  to  see  brick  office  buildings,  street 
cars,  several  taxi-cabs  at  the  station,  paved  streets, 
and  the  business  bustle  of  a  Western  city  which 
always  impresses  the  stranger  with  the  idea  that 
the  place  is  commercially  much  more  important  than 
it  actually  is. 


The  Approach  65 

"This — this  cannot  be  Canyon  Pass?"  she  stam 
mered  to  Hunt. 

"No."  He  laughed.  "But  here's  Joe  Hurley- 
bless  him!  Joe!" 

He  shouted  it  heartily  before  dropping  off  the  car 
step  and  turning  to  help  Betty.  But  Joe  Hurley 
strode  across  the  platform  and  playfully  shouldered 
the  minister  aside. 

"Your  servant,  Miss  Betty!"  the  Westerner 
cried,  sweeping  off  his  broad-brimmed  hat  in  a  not 
ungraceful  bow. 

The  girl  from  the  East  floated  off  the  step  into 
his  arms.  Joe  set  her  as  lightly  as  a  thistle-down 
upon  the  platform  and  somehow  found  her  free 
hand. 

"When  Willie,  here,  told  me  you  would  come  with 
him,  Miss  Betty,  I  promised  the  boys  at  the  Great 
Hope  a  holiday  when  you  arrived.  Great  salt 
peter!"  he  added,  stepping  off  to  admire  her  from 
her  rippling,  bistered  hair  to  her  silk  stockinged 
ankles.  "You  sure  will  make  the  boys  sit  up  and 
take  notice!" 

Here  Hunt,  having  relieved  himself  of  the  hand 
bags,  got  hold  of  Hurley's  hand  and  began  pumping. 
The  two  young  men  looked  into  each  other's  eyes 
over  that  handclasp.  They  had  little  to  say,  but 
much  to  feel.  Betty  sighed  as  she  looked  on.  Her 
last  hope  of  quick  escape  from  the  West  went  with 
that  sigh.  The  handclasp  and  the  look  were  like 


66          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

an  oath  between  the  two  young  men  to  stand  by 
each  other. 

"Well,  old  sober-sides!"  said  Joe. 

"Same  old  Joe,  aren't  you?"  rejoined  the  min 
ister. 

"Come  on.  We'll  get  your  bags  into  a  taxi  and 
go  up  to  the  hotel,"  Hurley  said  briskly.  "I  got 
rooms  for  you.  We  can't  go  on  to  the  Pass  till 
eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

"Is  there  but  one  train  a  day,  Mr.  Hurley?" 
Betty  asked  as  he  helped  her  into  the  cab. 

"To  Canyon  Pass  ?  Ain't  ever  been  one  yet,"  and 
he  chuckled.  "We  go  over  with  Lizard  Dan  and 
the  mail.  Some  day,  when  the  roads  are  fixed  up, 
we  may  get  motor  service.  Until  then,  a  six-mule 
stagecoach  has  to  serve." 

"Oh!" 

Hunt's  eyes  twinkled.  "Break  it  to  her  gently, 
Joe,"  he  advised.  "Bet  is  prepared  to  be  very  much 
shocked,  I  know.  This  frontier  life  is  going  to  be 
an  eye-opener  for  her." 

"  'Frontier  life !'  "  snorted  Hurley.  "Why,  we're 
plumb  civilized.  Bill  Judson  has  laid  in  a  stock  of 
near-silk  hosiery  and  shirts  with  pleated  bosoms. 
Wait  till  you  see  some  of  the  boys  in  holiday  rig. 
Knock  your  eye  out,  when  it  comes  to  style." 

Betty  smiled.  She  did  not  mind  being  laughed 
at.  Besides,  the  modern  appearance  of  Crescent 
City  had  somewhat  relieved  her  apprehension. 


The  Approach  67 

Even  the  hotel  was  not  bad.  Their  rooms  were 
cheerful  and  clean,  so  she  could  excuse  the  brand- 
new,  shiny  oak  furniture  and  the  garrish  brass  beds. 

She  did  not  dislike  Joe  Hurley — not  really.  It 
was  only  his  influence  over  Ford  that  she  observed 
with  a  somewhat  jealous  eye.  Although  the  min 
ing  man  seldom  addressed  her  brother  seriously, 
she  realized  that  he  was  fond  of  Ford.  The  latter 
was  much  the  stronger  character  of  the  two — she 
was  sure  of  that.  He  would  never  be  overborne  in 
any  essential  thing  by  the  lighter-minded  Hurley. 
But  Ford  admired  the  latter  so  much  that  Betty 
felt  her  brother  was  likely  to  give  heed  to  Hurley's 
advice  in  most  matters  connected  with  this  new  and 
strange  environment  to  which  they  had  come. 

"Bet  is  scared  of  the  West  and  of  you  Western 
ers,"  Hunt  said  lightly.  "I  don't  know  but  what 
she  expected  you  to  have  sprouted  horns  since  she 
saw  you  before  Joe." 

"Shucks!"  chuckled  the  other.  "We're  mostly 
born  with  'em  out  here,  Miss  Betty.  But  they 
de-horn  us  before  they  let  us  run  loose  out  o'  the 
branding  pens.  And  remember,  I  spent  two  years 
in  the  effete  East." 

"It  never  touched  you,"  and  Hunt  laughed. 
"You're  just  as  wild  and  woolly  as  ever." 

The  girl  noted  that  Hurley  was  thoughtful  of 
their  every  comfort.  He  showed  them  the  best  of 
the  town  that  day;  but  in  the  evening  they  rested 


68          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

at  the  hotel  and  talked.  The  two  men  conversed 
while  they  smoked  in  Hunt's  room,  with  the  door 
opened  into  Betty's.  She  heard  the  murmur  of 
their  voices  as  she  sat  by  her  darkened  window  and 
looked  out  into  the  electrically  lighted  main  street 
of  Crescent  City. 

She  was  not  at  all  thrilled  by  the  novelty  of  the 
situation.  She  was  only  troubled. 

Those  strangers  passing  by!  She  saw  a  face  in 
the  throng  but  seldom  as  the  street  lights  flickered 
upon  it.  And  always  she  was  fearfully  expectant 
of  seeing — What?  Whom?  She  shuddered. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  FIRST  TRICK 

THE  high-springed  stagecoach  lurched  drunkenly 
over  the  trail  that  wound  through  a  valley  Betty 
thought  gnomes  might  have  hewn  out  when  the 
world  was  young.  Barren,  riven  rock,  gaunt,  stunt 
ed  trees,  painted  cliffs  hazed  by  distance,  all  added 
to  a  prospect  that  fell  far  short  in  the  Eastern  girl's 
opinion  of  being  picturesque. 

Rather,  it  was  just  what  her  brother  had  termed 
this  Western  country — raw.  Betty  did  not  like  any 
rude  thing.  She  shrank  instinctively  from  anything 
crude  and  unfinished. 

The  three — herself,  her  brother,  and  Joe  Hurley 
— occupied  the  seat  on  the  roof  of  the  plunging 
coach  just  behind  the  driver.  "Lizard  Dan"  was 
an  uncouth  individual  both  in  speech  and  appear 
ance.  He  was  bewhiskered,  overalled,  wore  broken 
boots  and  an  enormous  slouched  hat,  and  his  hands 
were  so  grimy  that  Betty  shuddered  at  them,  al 
though  they  so  skillfully  handled  the  reins  over  the 
backs  of  six  frisky  driving-mules. 

Lizard  Dan,  Hurley  told  the  Easterners,  had 
gained  his  nickname  when  he  was  a  pocket-hunter  in 

69 


70          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

a  now  far-distant  day.  He  had  been  lost  in  the 
desert  at  one  time  and  swore  when  he  came  out 
that  he  had  existed  by  eating  Crotaphytus  Wislizeni 
roasted  over  a  fire  of  dry  cacti — the  succulence  of 
which  saurian  is  much  doubted  by  the  Western 
white  man,  although  it  is  a  small  brother  of  the 
South  American  iguana,  there  considered  a  delicacy. 

However,  Dan  acquired  a  nickname  and  such  a 
fear  of  the  desert  thereby  that  he  became  the  one 
known  specimen  of  the  completely  cured  desert  rat. 
He  never  went  prospecting  again,  but  instead  drove 
the  stage  between  Crescent  City  and  Canyon  Pass. 

'The  boys  expecting  us  at  the  Pass  to-day,  Dan?" 
Joe  Hurley  had  asked  early  in  the  journey." 

"Youbetcha!" 

"Got  your  gun  loaded?" 

Dan  kicked  the  heavy  double-barreled  shotgun  at 
his  feet  and  replied  again: 

"  Youbetcha !" 

"Do — do  wild  animals  infest  the  road?"  Betty 
had  asked  stammeringly. 

"Not  much/7  said  Hurley.  "But  Dan  carries  a 
heap  of  registered  mail  in  which  wild  men,  rather 
than  wild  animals,  might  be  interested." 

"Youbetcha!"  agreed  Dan. 

Hurley  glanced  sideways  at  Betty's  face,  caught 
its  expression,  and  exploded  into  laughter. 

"You've  come  to  'Youbetcha  Land,'  Miss  Betty," 
he  said,  when  he  could  speak  again. 


The  First  Trick  71 

"He  is  a  character,"  chuckled  Hunt  on  her  other 
side. 

The  suggestion  of  highwaymen  stuck  in  the  girl's 
mind.  She  looked  from  "Lizard  Dan's  weapon  to 
the  ivory  butt  of  the  heavy  revolver  pouched  at 
Joe  Hurley's  waist.  These  weapons  could  not 
be  worn  exactly  for  show — an  exhibition  of  the 
vanity  of  rather  uncouth  minds.  It  fretted  her 
though  without  frightening  her,  this  phase  of  West 
ern  life.  It  was  not  the  possibility  of  gun-fights  and 
brawls  and  the  offices  of  Judge  Lynch  that  made 
Betty  Hunt  shrink  from  contact  with  this  country 
and  its  people. 

The  stagecoach  mounted  out  of  the  valley — which 
might,  Hunt  said,  have  been  fittingly  described  by 
Ezekiel — and  followed  a  winding  trail  through  the 
minor  range  of  hills  that  divided  Crescent  City 
and  its  purlieus  from  the  Canyon  Pass  country.  The 
coach  pitched  and  rocked  as  though  it  was  a  sea 
going  hack. 

In  time  they  crossed  the  small  divide  and  came 
down  the  watershed  into  the  valley  of  the  East  Fork. 

Borne  to  their  ears  on  the  breeze  at  last,  through 
the  sound  of  the  rumbling  coach-wheels  and  the 
rattling  trace-chains,  was  another  noise.  A  throb 
bing  rhythm  of  sound  with  the  dull  swish  of  inter 
mittent  streams  of  water. 

"The  hydraulic  pumps  at  the  Eureka  Washings/' 


72          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

explained  Hurley.  "We'll  be  in  sight  of  them — and 
of  Canyon  Pass — before  very  long." 

The  stagecoach  lurched  around  a  corner,  and  the 
raw,  red  bench  of  the  riverbank  came  into  view. 
Steam  pumps  were  noisily  at  work  and  men  were 
busy  at  the  sluices  into  which  the  gold-bearing  earth 
and  gravel  were  washed  down  from  the  high  bank. 

Three  great,  brass-nozzled  hydraulic  "guns"  were 
at  work — each  machine  straddled  by  a  man  in  oil 
skins  and  hip  boots,  who  manipulated  the  heavy 
stream  of  water  that  ate  into  the  bank  and  crumbled 
it  in  sections. 

At  the  moment  of  their  sighting  the  hydraulic 
washings  across  the  river,  there  was  raised  a  wild, 
concerted  shout  from  a  point  ahead.  Out  of  a  hid 
den  cove  galloped  a  cavalcade  of  a  dozen  or  more 
mounted  men,  who  swept  up  the  road  to  meet  the 
coach. 

For  an  instant  Betty  thought  of  the  shotgun  at 
Dan's  feet  and  of  highwaymen.  These  coming 
riders  waved  guns  and  yelled  like  wild  Indians.  But 
she  saw  a  broad  grin  on  Joe  Hurley's  face. 

"Here  come  some  of  the  Great  Hope  boys,"  he 
explained.  "Their  idea  of  'welcome  to  our  city' 
may  be  a  little  noisy,  but  they  mean  you  well,  Hunt." 

They  came  "a-shootin',"  and  Lizard  Dan  threw 
the  long  lash  of  his  whip  over  the  backs  of  his  six 
mules  to  force  them  through  the  cavalcade  on  the 
gallop. 


The  First  Trick  73 

Firing  their  guns  and  yelling  the  riders  on  their 
wiry  ponies,  surrounding  the  coach  as  its  escort, 
pounded  down  to  the  ford.  Their  hullabaloo  an 
nounced  far  in  advance  the  approach  of  the  coach  to 
Canyon  Pass. 

In  all  its  ugliness  the  mining  camp  was  revealed. 
The  gaze  of  the  Easterners  was  focused  on  its  un- 
painted  shacks  and  rutted  streets.  They  saw  men, 
women,  children,  and  a  multitude  of  dogs  run 
ning  from  all  points  toward  the  main  thoroughfare 
of  the  town. 

It  was  like  a  picture — not  like  anything  real. 
Betty's  dazed  mind  could  not  accept  this  night 
mare  of  a  place  as  actually  being  the  town  to  which 
fate — and  her  brother's  obstinacy — had  brought 
them.  Given  an  opportunity  right  then,  the  girl 
would  have  failed  her  brother !  She  was  in  a  mood 
to  desert  him  and  return  East  as  fast  as  she  could 
travel. 

Joe  Hurley  grinned  at  her.  She  had  begun  almost 
to  hate  those  twinkling  brown  eyes  of  his  with  the 
golden  sparks  in  them.  He  seemed  to  know  just 
what  her  feelings  were  and  to  enjoy  her  horror  of 
the  crudity  which  assailed  her  on  every  hand.  To 
her  mind,  Hurley  was  worse  than  his  associates, 
for  he  had  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  some  cul 
ture. 

The  mules  dashed  into  the  shallows.  Spray  flew 
as  high  as  the  roof  of  the  coach.  The  mules  settled 


74          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

into  a  heavier  pace  as  they  dragged  the  vehicle  up 
the  farther  bank  and  into  the  foot  of  Main  Street. 

The  crowd — a  couple  of  hundred  people  of  all 
ages — had  gathered  before  the  Wild  Rose  Hotel. 
This  stood  opposite  the  bank  and  farther  along  the 
street  than  the  Three  Star  Grocery  and  Boss  Tol- 
ley's  Grub  Stake.  The  mules  picked  up  their  heels 
again  under  the  cracking  of  Lizard  Dan's  whip 
lash,  and  cantered  up  to  the  chief  hostelry  of  Can 
yon  Pass.  The  yelling  crew  of  horsemen — a  bizarre 
committee  of  welcome  indeed — rode  ahead,  punctu 
ating  their  vociferous  clamor  by  an  occasional  pis 
tol-shot. 

Betty  caught  sight  of  her  brother's  face.  It  was 
as  broadly  smiling  as  was  that  of  Joe  Hurley !  Ac 
tually  Ford  was  enjoying  this  awful  experience. 

The  moment  Dan  drew  the  mules  to  a  halt,  Hur 
ley  was  half  way  to  the  ground  and  turned  on  the 
step  to  help  Betty  down.  She  glanced  timidly  at 
Hunt  again.  He  was  preparing  to  descend  on  the 
other  side  of  the  coach,  leaving  her  entirely  to 
Hurley's  care. 

Then  occurred  that  incident  which  would  ever  be 
engraved  upon  Betty's  memory,  and  which  marked 
indeed  the  coming  of  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford 
Hunt  to  Canyon  Pass  on  the  archives  of  the  town's 
history  in  letters  that  never  would  be  effaced. 

As  Hunt  started  to  descend  from  the  roof  of  the 
coach  there  sounded  a  single  pistol-shot  and  the  hat 


The  First  Trick  75 

he  wore — a  low-crowned  affair,  the  single  mark  of 
the  cleric  in  his  dress — sailed  into  the  air  with  a 
ragged  hole  through  brim  and  crown. 

As  the  hat  flew  upward  a  fusillade  of  five  more 
shots  followed  the  first,  and  the  hat  was  torn  to 
rags  as  it  sailed  over  the  roof  of  the  coach.  The 
crowd  roared — some  in  anger,  but  most  in  derision. 
The  man  standing  by  the  door  of  the  Grub  Stake 
reloaded  his  gun  before  putting  it  away,  grinning 
broadly. 

Hunt  was  startled ;  but  his  own  smile  did  not  fade. 
What  was  it  Joe  had  impressed  so  emphatically  upon 
his  mind? 

"It's  the  first  impression  that  counts  with  Can 
yon  Pass  folks.  Give  'em  the  chance,  and  they'll 
laugh  you  out  of  town.  And  remember,  they  are 
bound  to  judge  you,  Hunt,  by  their  own  standards." 

The  young  minister  felt  that  the  occasion  was 
momentous.  His  usefulness  here  in  Canyon  Pass 
might  depend  upon  his  action  or  comment  in  this 
emergency. 

His  nerves  were  perfectly  steady.  How  was  his 
nerve?  He  knew  the  man  who  had  shot  the  hat 
from  his  head  was  such  a  good  shot  that  he  had 
been  in  no  danger  at  all. 

But  Hunt  felt  that  something  more  was  expected 
of  him  than  the  mere  ignoring  of  a  rude  and  offen 
sive  act.  He  started  across  the  road  toward  the  gun 
man.  Those  who  stood  in  the  way  opened  a  lane 


76          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

for  him  with  some  alacrity.  The  smiles  upon  the 
faces  of  those  who  moved  stiffened.  Something  ex 
traordinary,  something  they  had  not  at  all  expected, 
was  about  to  happen. 

Hicks,  slouching  against  the  front  of  the  Grub 
Stake,  came  to  sudden  attention.  His  fingers 
crooked,  creeping  toward  the  butt  of  his  gun  again. 
Every  atom  of  the  ruffian's  courage — such  as  it  was 
— lay  in  that  weapon.  Without  it — and  its  leaden 
death — he  was  a  sheep  for  bravery! 

Smiling  still  Hunt  reached  him.  The  parson's 
steady  gaze  held  that  of  Hicks  as  the  human  eye  is 
said  to  hypnotize  the  gaze  of  all  wild  beasts.  Hicks, 
however,  was  not  wild.  Not  now.  Not  so  you  could 
notice  it! 

"Brother,"  Hunt  said  cheerfully,  "you've  spoiled 
my  hat.  It's  the  only  hat  I've  got  with  me  until  my 
trunks  come  in  by  freight.  You've  had  your  fun, 
and  it's  only  fair  you  should  pay  for  it." 

The  expression  of  Hicks'  face  sunk  into  a  sneer. 
He  thought  the  white-livered  parson  was  trying  to 
get  money  from  him  for  the  hat.  He  must  indeed 
by  a  "softie." 

Then  Hunt's  hands  moved  suddenly,  swiftly.  In 
a  flash  he  had  snatched  the  broad-brimmed  hat  from 
Hicks'  head  and  placed  it  on  his  own. 

"Turn  about  is  fair  play,  don't  you  think?"  said 
the  parson,  and  without  waiting  for  a  reply  he  turned 
on  his  heel  and  went  back  across  the  street! 


The  First  Trick  77 

The  silence  that  had  fallen  on  the  crowd  had 
been  of  that  tense,  strained  quality  that  portended 
tragedy.  Had  Hunt  showed  offense  at  the  trick 
played  upon  him  and  struck  Hicks,  the  latter  would 
have  used  his  gun  without  mercy.  And  scarcely 
could  a  jury  have  been  impaneled  in  Canyon  Pass 
that  would  have  convicted  the  ruffian. 

But  of  a  sudden,  a  roar  of  laughter  rose  from 
the  crowd.  They  rocked  with  it,  beating  their 
knees,  holding  their  sides,  laughing  with  wide-open 
mouths  and  streaming  eyes.  Nor  was  the  comical 
appearance  of  Hicks'  dilapidated  hat  crowning  the 
parson's  otherwise  impeccable  outfit  all  that  spurred 
Canyon  Pass  to  such  wild  cachinnation. 

The  strident  laughter  was  aimed  at  the  chagrined 
gunman.  Hicks  knew  it.  The  broad  back  of  the 
parson  offered  a  sure  target;  but  he  knew  better 
than  to  draw  his  gun  a  second  time.  Instead  he 
turned  away,  hatless,  and  sought  sanctuary  in  the 
Grub  Stake. 

Hunt  had  taken  the  first  trick  in  this  game  he 
had  "set  into."  And  Canyon  Pass  to  a  man  ad 
mired  a  shrewd  gambler. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  FLOWER  IN  THE  MIRE 

HAD  Betty  Hunt  not  had  Joe  Hurley  to  steady  her 
as  she  came  down  from  the  roof  of  the  stagecoach  to 
the  ground  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  she  never 
could  have  stood  upright  through  that  scene!  The 
sight  of  her  brother's  hat  flying  overhead,  the  tar 
get  of  Hicks'  six-gun,  led  her  to  believe  that  Hunt 
was  in  peril — deadly  peril. 

She  wanted  to  beg  Hurley  to  run  to  her  brother's 
rescue,  but  her  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  her 
mouth.  What  followed  utterly  appalled  her.  She 
verily  believed  that  Hunt  took  his  life  in  his  hands 
when  he  approached  and  browbeat  the  bad  man! 

But  as  she  heard  the  boisterous  laughter  of  the 
crowd  and  saw  the  strange  hat  flapping  about  the 
Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt's  ears,  Betty  became 
suddenly  angry. 

"Take  off  that  horrid  hat,  Ford !"  she  cried  when 
the  parson  joined  them.  "I  beg  of  you,  take  it  off  at 
once." 

"Don't  do  it,  Willie,"  interposed  Hurley.  "Let 
zt  be.  No  crown  of  glory  you  may  earn  will  ever 
so  become  you.  Continue  to  wear  it,  Reverend,  and 

78 


A  Flower  in  the  Mire  79 

not  a  soul  in  Canyon  Pass  will  ever  laugh  at  you,  if 
they  do  at  the  hat.  It  will  remind  'em  that  you're  an 
honest-to-goodness  he-man." 

Hunt  smiled  deprecatingly.  "You  make  too  much 
of  it,  Joe.  Don't  worry,  Betty,  about  the  hat.  I 
might  as  well  keep  the  joke  up  a  little  while." 

"'Joke!'"  she  groaned. 

Hurley  slapped  Hunt  resoundingly  on  the  shoul 
der.  "You're  all  right,  Willie!" 

This  turned  Betty  against  him  all  the  more.  It 
was  so  uncouth  she  thought  on  Hurley's  part  and  so 
undignified  on  her  brother's.  With  all  these  people 
looking  on,  grinning  and  gaping,  was  that  the  way 
to  gain  respect  for  a  clergyman  and  for  his  work? 

"Well,  let's  go  into  the  Wild  Rose  and  get  you 
settled,"  Hurley  said  with  that  cordiality  that  did 
much,  after  all,  to  disarm  Betty's  criticism.  "I  told 
'Cholo'  Sam  and  Maria  to  clean  up  some  rooms 
for  you  and  try  and  make  things  halfway  decent. 
But  I  don't  know.  This  isn't  like  the  hotel  at 
Crescent  City." 

The  statement  was  not  conducive  to  Betty's  peace 
of  mind.  The  sordidness  and  squalor  of  Canyon 
Pass  was  being  from  moment  to  moment  etched 
more  deeply  on  her  brain.  They  mounted  the  steps 
of  unplaned  boards  and  crossed  the  porch  that  shook 
even  under  Betty's  light  tread.  Unpainted  walls, 
uncarpeted  stairs,  and  not  altogether  clean  floors 
met  her  gaze  as  they  entered  the  hostelry. 


80  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

If  Hunt  was  appalled  by  the  rudeness  of  their 
surroundings  he  very  successfully  hid  his  real  feel 
ings.  He  had  spent  vacations  in  the  hunting  and 
fishing  camps  of  Maine  and  Quebec.  The  lack  of 
even  the  ordinary  conveniences  of  civilized  life 
could  not  in  any  case  trouble  him  as  it  did  his  gently 
nurtured  sister. 

He  did,  however,  on  this  first  evening  arrange  to 
have  their  supper  served  in  Betty's  room,  rather 
than  forcing  her  to  eat  in  the  general  dining-room 
of  the  hotel.  But  he  explained  that  they  could  not 
thus  segregate  themselves  in  the  future. 

"It  wouldn't  do,  Betty.  I  must  mix  with  these 
people — show  myself  willing  to  be  one  of  them  in 
ordinary  ways.  Respect  for  the  cloth  cannot  be 
won  among  these  open-hearted  folk  by  finnicky 
manners.  I  must  be  one  of  them.  I  must  show 
them  that  I  am  a  man  as  well  as  a  preacher." 

She  could  not  agree;  but  at  least  she  was  wise 
enough  not  to  oppose — at  this  time — his  evident 
acceptance  of  Joe  Hurley's  advice.  She  saw  in  the 
latter  more  clearly  than  ever  a  dangerous  ally  for 
her  brother. 

Hunt's  abundant  cheerfulness — even  over  the 
coarse  supper-fare  and  the  absence  of  napkins — 
closed  his  sister's  lips  even  more  firmly.  The  two 
had  come  to  Canyon  Pass  with  diametrically  op 
posed  mental  attitudes.  Hunt  was  prepared  to  ac 
cept  things  as  they  should  find  them,  but  nothing  in 


A  Flower  in  the  Mire  81 

Canyon  Pass,  or  about  it  or  its  inhabitants,  could 
please  Betty. 

As  darkness  fell  the  town  grew  noisier,  for  it  was 
a  Saturday  night.  Betty,  looking  from  her  window, 
saw  only  flaring  oil  lamps  and  gasoline  torches  il 
luminating  the  street.  The  men  who  passed  up  and 
down  were  much  rougher  in  appearance  and  of 
tongue  than  those  she  had  watched  under  similar 
circumstances  in  Crescent  City.  There  were  al 
most  no  women  in  sight. 

Men  spoke  harshly,  or  shouted  ribaldries  to  one 
another.  Indeed,  the  girl  from  the  East  scarcely 
understood  the  language  they  used.  Miserably  she 
crept  to  bed.  She  had  locked  her  door  after  her 
brother  left  her,  and  she  even  dragged  the  pine 
washstand  against  it  as  a  barricade. 

The  Wild  Rose  Hotel  itself  was  no  quiet  abode  on 
this  night.  There  was  a  bar,  and  although  it  was 
at  the  other  end  of  the  house,  the  noise  of  the 
shouting,  the  rude  songs,  the  stamping  and  quarrel 
ing  therein  made  Betty  shake  in  her  bed  until  long 
after  midnight.  She  had  no  idea  that  her  brother 
went  to  bed,  fell  asleep  in  a  minute,  and  slept  as 
peacefully  as  a  baby  until  almost  sunrise. 

A  Sabbath  dawn  could  be  as  calm  at  Canyon 
Pass  as  at  Ditson  Corners.  The  pearl-gray  light 
of  the  new  day  washed  the  sleep  from  the  Reverend 
Willett  Ford  Hunt's  eyes.  He  arose  to  lean  on  his 
elbow  and  gaze  through  a  window  that,  curtainless, 


82  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

looked  out  on  Mulligan  Lane.  There  were  some 
frowsy  buildings  within  sight — evidently  dwellings 
of  a  kind — but  the  parson  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  hills 
feeling  with  the  psalmist  that  "whence  cometh  my 
strength." 

They  stood — those  hills — in  serrated  ranks  from 
the  far  east  to  the  point  where  the  sudden  uplift  of 
the  canyon  wall  on  that  side  of  the  river  closed  the 
outlook.  Even  Old  Graylock  of  his  familiar  Berk- 
shires  had  not  the  magnificence  of  these  peaks.  He 
was  impressed  again  as  he  already  had  been  with  the 
difference  merely  in  size  between  these  western  hills 
and  the  Berkshires,  let  alone  the  vast  dissimilarity 
in  their  contour. 

The  eminences  of  western  Massachusetts  for  the 
most  part  slope  away  into  wooded  and  pastured 
ridges,  which  themselves  melt  into  the  lush  low 
lands.  Their  crowns  do  not  seem  so  imposing  as 
these  western  peaks  because  of  their  configuration. 

His  window  was  open.  Suddenly  he  became 
aware  of  voices  below  it  at  the  back  of  the  hotel. 

Something  was  going  on  there — something  that 
revealed  the  dregs  of  life  to  be  as  mean  and  offensive 
here  in  Canyon  Pass  as  they  could  be  in  any  place 
in  the  whole  world.  He  heard  the  maundering  tones 
of  an  intoxicated  man  and — sharply  contrasted — the 
voice  of  a  woman. 

"Get  up,  Sam,  and  come  home." 


A  Flower  in  the  Mire  83 

"Hie!  Won't  go  home  till  mawnin' — till  mawn- 
in' — hie — doth  'pear." 

"Well,  morning's  appearing  all  right,  and  it'll 
catch  you  here,  wallerin'  like  a  hog  in  the  lane.  Come 
home  with  me." 

"No.  I'm  a  man.  I'm — hie! — independent,  I 
am.  I'll  go  hu-hu-home  jest  whenever  I  please." 

"Now's  the  time  to  please  me,  Sam.  Get  up  and 
come  along." 

"Couldn't  do  it,  gal.  Couldn't  think — hie! — of  it. 
'Twould  be  givin'  up  my  indepen — die ! — dence.  I'm 
— I'm  my  own  master.  Leastways,  I  am  on  Sun 
day  when  the  mine's  shut  down.  Here  I  stand " 

"But  you  don't  stand!"  ejaculated  the  woman's 
voice  sharply.  "And  I  don't  believe  you  can." 

The  inebriated  man  gave  no  heed  to  this  chal 
lenge.  "Here  I  stand,"  he  repeated.  "  'On  Jor 
dan's  bank  I  take  my  stand,  and  cast  a — hie! — cast 
a  wishtful  eye' " 

"More'n  likely  you'll  cast  a  shoe  and  won't  get 
home  at  all,  if  I  can't  start  you,"  complained  the 
woman's  voice. 

Hunt  had  risen  and  was  scrambling  into  the  more 
necessary  articles  of  his  apparel.  He  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  down  into  the  lane. 

There  was  an  overturned  box  just  below  the 
window  and  slouched  down  upon  it  was  a  withered, 
baldheaded  man  whose  frayed  whiskers  and  un- 
trimmed  hair  made  him  look  a  deal  like  an  inebriated 


84  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

monkey.  There  was  nothing  humorous  looking  in 
this  specimen  of  fallen  humanity  to  the  mind  of  the 
parson.  He  could  only  pity  his  case. 

But  it  must  be  confessed  the  other  person  engaged 
in  the  colloquy  gained  Hunt's  interest  and  held  it  at 
once. 

She  was  small,  lissome,  of  a  vigorous  figure  and 
vastly  more  attractive  to  his  eye  than  any  girl  he 
had  ever  looked  at.  Indeed,  he  was  amazed  to  see 
such  a  really  beautiful  creature  in  such  squalid  sur 
roundings. 

"Get  up  and  come  home  with  me,"  said  the  girl 
again.  "What  will  Mother  Tubbs  say  when  she  sees 
you?" 

"Heh?  I  reckon  I  better  stay  yere,"  was  the  re 
ply.  "Man  can't  keep  his — hie! — dignity  when  a 
great  walrus  of  a  woman  throws  him  'round  like  he 
was  a  sack  of  spuds.  I  tell  you,  gal,  I  made  a  great 
mistake  in  marryin'  that  woman." 

"It  was  a  great  mistake  for  her — that's  a  fact," 
was  the  sharp  rejoinder.  "You  got  so  many  failings 
I  don't  see  how  Mother  Tubbs  remembers  'em  all 
when  she  prays  for  you.  Ugh !  You  men !  There 
ain't  a  one  of  you  I'd  give  a  hoot  in  a  rain-water 
barrel  for.  Get  up !" 

The  girl  again  tried  to  drag  him  to  his  feet.  Sam 
Tubbs  merely  fell  over  sideways  and  sprawled  help 
less  upon  the  ground. 

Hunt,  without  his  coat  or  vest,  but  grabbing  up 


A  Flower  in  the  Mire  85 

the  flap-brimmed  hat  he  had  secured  from  the  gun 
man  the  evening  before,  opened  his  door,  ran  down 
the  back  stairway  of  the  hotel,  and  made  his  way 
quickly  into  the  lane.  As  he  appeared  before  Nell 
Blossom,  standing  over  the  now  slumbering  drunk 
ard,  he  looked  anything  but  the  cleric. 

"Can  I  be  of  help?"  he  asked. 

"You  can't  help  me  none,  mister,"  replied  Nell 
brusquely. 

"I  scarcely  think  you  need  help,"  said  Hunt,  smil 
ing.  "But  this  unfortunate " 

"  'Unfortunate'  is  right!"  repeated  the  girl.  "Sam 
Tubbs  is  so  unfortunate  that  it  would  be  money 
right  now  in  his  pocket  if  he'd  never  been  born.  If 
I  leave  him  here  some  of  those  cheap  hangers-on 
of  the  Grub  Stake  or  Colorado's  place  will  roll  him 
for  all  he  has  in  his  jeans.  And  Mother  Tubbs 
needs  what  he's  got  left  of  his  pay — believe  me !" 

"Where  does  he  live?" 

"Where  I  do.    Down  the  lane  a  ways." 

"I  think  we  can  get  him  there,"  said  Hunt,  and 
without  further  ado  he  stooped,  got  a  grip  on  Sam 
Tubbs,  and  proceeded  to  throw  him  over  his  shoul 
der  like  a  sack  of  meal. 

The  girl's  eyes  grew  round.  For  the  first  time 
she  expressed  some  appreciation — perhaps  a  little 
admiration — for  his  friendliness. 

"You  wasn't  behind  the  door  when  they  were 


86  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

passing  out  muscle,"  she  remarked.  "Well,  come 
on.  I'll  show  you  the  way." 

The  now  slumbering  Sam  Tubbs  was  scarcely  a 
heavy  burden,  and  to  Hunt  the  task  of  carrying 
him  was  slight.  He  was  considerably  amused  as 
well  as  interested  in  the  girl.  It  was  quite  apparent 
that  she  did  not  know  he  was  the  new  parson.  Evi 
dently  she  had  not  been  in  the  crowd  the  day  before 
that  had  welcomed  the  coming  of  the  tenderfoot 
preacher  and  his  sister  to  Canyon  Pass. 

Hunt  was  studying  her  face  now  with  more  than 
amusement,  although  her  bluff  manner  of  speech 
and  utterly  independent  air  made  Nell  Blossom  a 
revelation  of  a  new  phase  of  femininity  to  him.  Her 
speech,  in  the  first  place,  did  not  accord  with  her 
beauty,  nor,  indeed,  with  the  natural  refinement  ex 
pressed  in  her  countenance. 

She  certainly  was  a  lovely  girl!  In  the  early 
morning  light  her  light  brown  hair  seemed  threaded 
all  through  the  mass  of  it  with  strands  of  gold. 
Her  eyes  were  the  blue  of  a  mountain  lake — but 
with  ice  in  their  depths.  Their  gaze,  as  it  was 
turned  on  Hunt,  was  utterly  impersonal. 

Her  peachy  complexion  as  well,  offset  by  dark 
brows  and  red  lips,  aroused  Hunt's  admiration  for 
its  sheer  beauty.  Brown-gold  hair,  blue  eyes,  petite 
and  lissome  figure — when  had  such  description  of  a 
girl  caught  in  the  cogs  of  his  memory?  Some- 


A  Flower  in  the  Mire  87 

where  lately  he  had  seen,  or  heard  described,  such 
a  sprite  of  a  girl  as  this. 

She  was  dressed  plainly  enough  in  serviceable 
corduroy — short  skirt,  blouse,  broad-brimmed  hat, 
high  laced  boots.  A  crimson  scarf  was  knotted  un 
der  the  collar  of  her  blouse.  She  wore  no  orna 
ment. 

Nell  did  not  say  much  during  that  brief  walk. 
Not  that  she  was  at  all  timid  or  bashful;  but  she 
seemed  to  feel  no  particular  interest  in  this  young 
man  who  had  put  himself  out  to  help  Sam  Tubbs. 

For  her  own  part  she  considered  Sam  a  nuisance. 
She  had  no  use  for  the  old  reprobate.  It  was  solely 
for  Mother  Tubbs'  sake  that  she  had  bothered  her 
self  with  regard  to  Sam.  Finding  him  drunk — as 
usual — on  her  way  home  from  Colorado  Brown's 
place  early  on  this  Sunday  morning,  she  had  tried 
to  get  him  home  without  realizing  at  first  that  Sam 
was  quite  so  far  gone  in  liquor  as  he  was. 

As  for  this  man  who  walked  by  her  side,  carrying 
so  easily  the  insensible  Sam,  Nell  did  not  question 
who  he  was.  That  he  was  a  stranger — possibly  a 
traveling  salesman,  or  "drummer" — perhaps  a  min 
ing  man,  she  believed,  if  she  thought  of  him  at  all. 
As  Hunt  suspected,  she  did  not  for  a  moment  iden 
tify  him  as  the  parson  Joe  Hurley  had  brought  to 
Canyon  Pass.  In  any  event  she  could  not  have  im 
agined  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  as  this 
sort  of  person. 


88  The  .Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

They  turned  abruptly  into  another  narrow  alley 
and  came  to  the  front  of  the  Tubbs'  shack.  The 
yard,  fenced  by  pickets  of  barrel-staves,  was  neatly 
kept  and  there  was  an  attempt  at  a  flower  bed  on 
either  side  of  the  walk.  Mother  Tubbs  usually 
punished  Sam  for  his  sin  of  drunkenness,  after  he 
had  slept  off  his  potations,  by  making  him  weed  the 
tiny  gardens  and  rake  the  path.  These  penitential 
activities  kept  the  Tubbs  premises  spick  and  span. 

Nell  led  the  way  imperturbably  around  to  the  back 
door  of  the  shack.  This  door  was  open  'and  a  thin 
blue  haze — odorous  and  appetizing — floated  out  of 
the  kitchen. 

"Just  getting  a  nice  breakfast  for  you,  honey," 
said  Mother  Tubbs,  filling  the  doorway  and  seeing 
Nell  first  of  all.  "Now,  if  only  Sam  would  come 
along — Is  that  Sam?  He  ain't  dead,  is  he?" 

"Only  dead  drunk,"  said  Nell  in  scorn. 

"Where  shall  I  put  him?"  asked  Hunt  quietly. 

"Well,  I  reckon  it  don't  much  matter.  You  can 
drop  him  down  anywhere,  mister.  I'll  fetch  a  dish- 
pan  o'  water  and  sluice  him  down  when  I  get  a 
chance.  But  I  can't  let  them  cakes  sp'ile."  Then  she 
saw  and  recognized  the  parson's  face,  for  Mother 
Tubbs  had  been  at  the  Wild  Rose  Hotel  the  day 
before  when  the  stagecoach  had  arrived.  "Goodness 
me!  I  declared,  Mister — er — Brother  Hunt,  this  is 
good  of  ye." 

Nell  stared.     The  note  of  respect  in   Mother 


A  Flower  in  the  Mire  89 

Tubbs'  voice  revealed  in  a  flash  Hunt's  identity  to 
the  cabaret  singer. 

"I  am  sartain  sure  obliged  to  you,"  went  on  the 
old  woman.  "Nell  Blossom  never  could  have  got 
him  home  alone."  Hunt  had  lowered  her  husband 
to  a  seat  on  the  porch  floor  and  propped  his  back 
against  a  post.  "Sleeping  like  a  baby,  ain't  he? 
Well,  he  can  stay  thataway  till  after  Nell  has  her 
breakfast." 

Hunt  was  not  giving  her  his  attention.  The  name 
"Nell  Blossom"  had  revealed  to  him  instantly  the 
familiarity  of  the  girl's  description.  This  was  the 
golden-haired,  blue-eyed,  high-spirited  beauty  Joe 
Hurley  had  written  about — the  girl  who  could  really 
sing. 

They  stared  at  each  other  while  the  old  woman 
went  back  to  her  cakes.  Nell  was  obviously  shift 
ing  the  gears  of  her  opinion  about  this  stranger. 
He,  a  parson?  No  lunger,  this  husky  six-footer! 

"Mebbe  you  ain't  acquainted,"  Mother  Tubbs 
said,  bustling  back  from  the  stove.  "Nell  Blossom  is 
a-living  with  me  and  has  been  doing  so — off  and 
on — for  more  than  three  years.  Ever  since  her  pa, 
old  Henery  Blossom,  up  and  died.  She's  a  singer, 
Nell  is — the  sweetest  you  ever  heard,  Brother  Hunt. 
I'm  hoping,  when  you  get  to  holding  meetings,  that 
we  can  get  her  to  sing  in  the  choir." 

Hunt  bowed,  smiling,  to  the  girl.    Her  expression 


90  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

of  countenance  was  no  less  forbidding  than  before. 
She  offered  him  no  encouragement. 

"Won't  you  stop  for  breakfast  with  me  and  Nell, 
Brother  Hunt?"  went  on  the  hospitable  old  woman. 
"I  always  try  to  have  something  hot  and  tasty  for 
Nell  when  she  comes  home  after  her  night's  work." 

Nell  started — was  it  angrily  ?  She  opened  her  lips 
to  speak,  then  shut  them  in  a  straight,  red  line.  In 
any  case,  Hunt  caught  the  significance  of  her  atti 
tude  of  objection,  had  he  been  tempted  to  accept 
the  old  woman's  hearty  invitation. 

"Not  this  morning,  Mrs. — er — Tubbs,  is  it?  Sis 
ter  Tubbs?  I  am  glad  to  have  met  you."  He  met 
her  huge  hand  with  a  warm  clasp  of  his  own. 
"When  we  get  started  here,  I  am  sure  I  can  depend 
on  your  aid  and  good  wishes  ?" 

"Youbetcha!"  exclaimed  the  old  woman.  "And 
you'll  see  me  in  one  of  the  front  seats — mebbe  in 
two  of  'em  if  they  ain't  bigger  than  usual,"  she 
added  with  twinkling  eyes. 

He  laughed  boyishly,  lifting  the  dilapidated  old 
hat  to  both  Mother  Tubbs  and  the  girl  as  he  turned 
the  corner  of  the  shack.  The  old  woman  looked 
down  admonishingly  at  Nell  Blossom. 

"You  weren't  a  mite  perlite  to  the  minister,  Nell," 
she  complained. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    BEGINNING 

THAT  eastern  mountain  range  was  all  etched  with 
rose  color  now  as  Hunt  went  back  to  the  hotel.  But 
the  town  had  scarcely  quieted  after  its  night's 
revelry.  Inebriates  were  still  dribbling  along  the 
streets  from  the  all-night  places. 

He  thought  of  Nell  Blossom.  She  certainly  was 
a  flower  in  the  mire  of  Canyon  Pass.  Joe  Hurley 
had  written  none  too  enthusiastically  about  the  girl, 
as  far  as  concerned  her  beauty.  And  although  Hunt 
was  by  no  means  given  to  impulsive  judgments,  he 
knew  there  was  a  refined  atmosphere  about  the  girl 
despite  her  gruff  independence  of  manner  and 
speech. 

His  return  to  the  hotel  was  unheralded  save  by 
the  cheerful  grin  of  Cholo  Sam,  the  Mexican  pro 
prietor  of  the  hostelry,  who  was  sluicing  out  the 
barroom. 

"Some  morning,  thees,  Senor  Hunt."  He  flashed 
a  tentative,  toothful  smile  toward  the  array  of  bot 
tles  behind  his  bar.  "Weel  you  have  one  leetle  drink, 
Senor?  A  'pick-my-up/  you  call  eet,  eh?" 

"Coffee,  Sam,"  replied  Hunt  briskly,  acknowledg- 
91 


92  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

ing  the  offer  in  the  spirit  it  was  meant.  "Coffee 
only — and  perhaps  a  bit  of  bread  with  it.  Service 
for  two,  please.  My  sister  will  want  some.  Will 
you  bring  it  up  ?" 

"But  surely,  sefior."  He  hesitated.  "Ees  eet  the 
truth  that  the  sefior  ees  a  meenister — the  padre? 
Sir' 

"Quite  true,  Sam.  That  is  my  business — my 
trade.  And  I  have  come  here  to  Canyon  Pass  hop 
ing  to  exercise  it." 

Hunt  mounted  to  his  room  to  find  that  Betty  was 
already  astir.  She  had  been  into  his  room  during 
his  absence.  One  of  the  bags  he  had  brought  upon 
the  stagecoach  had  been  opened  and  across  the  foot 
of  the  bed  was  carefully  laid  his  ordinary  Sunday 
garments — frock-coat,  high-cut  waistcoat,  and  nar 
row  trousers  of  dead  black  sheen. 

With  the  outer  garments  was  the  stiff-bosomed 
white  shirt — "boiled"  Joe  Hurley  would  have  desig 
nated  its  variety — the  silk  socks,  with  a  pair  of  low, 
gun-metal  kid  shoes  set  primly  on  the  floor  under 
the  edge  of  the  bed. 

Ford  Hunt  looked  at  all  these  once — then  again. 
He  thought  of  what  he  had  been  doing  already  on 
this  Sunday  morning.  Then  he  burst  into  loud 
laughter. 

Sunday  afternoon  when  the  weather  was  propi 
tious  was  the  time  for  social  intercourse  in  Canyon 
Pass.  Those  who  had  worked  or  played  or  had 


A  Beginning  93 

been  intoxicated  the  night  before  had  slept  off  the 
effects  of  their  super-exertions  for  the  most  part. 
They  came  forth  now  shaved  and  in  clean  garments 
and  strolled  to  Main  Street. 

It  was  still  too  early  for  the  cabarets  and  gambling 
places  to  be  open,  and  even  the  saloon  bars  were 
somnolent  save  for  the  flies  buzzing  about  them  or 
drunkenly  crawling  in  the  spilled  beer.  The  pivotal 
point  of  the  town's  rendezvous  and  gossip  on  Sun 
day  afternoon  was  the  Three  Star  Grocery.  In 
front  of  that  old  Bill  Judson  held  forth  between  his 
exertions  of  waiting  on  such  customers  as  might 
claim  his  attention. 

"Dad  burn  it!"  ejaculated  Judson.  "I  bet  Tom 
Hicks  has  crawled  into  his  hole  and  pulled  the  hole 
in  after  him.  I  should  want  to  if  I  was  him.  And 
you  take  it  from  me,  boys,  a  parson  that  can  do 
that  to  a  bad  actor  like  Tom  Hicks  will  make  Can 
yon  Pass  sit  up  and  take  notice  before  he's  through." 

"It  showed  sand,  I  allow,"  agreed  one  of  his  hear 
ers  judiciously.  "But  it's  r'iled  Boss  Tolley  all  up 
and  he  swears  the  parson  sha'n't  stay." 

"You  don't  say!"  drawled  Judson  sarcastically. 
"And  who  ever  elected  Tolley  to  be  boss  of  the  Pass  ? 
If  for  no  other  reason,  I'm  strong  for  this  yere  Rev 
erend  Hunt." 

"As  a  man — a  reg'lar  he-man — I'm  for  him,  too," 
agreed  another.  "But  I'm  thinkin'  we  can  get  along 


94          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

yere  at  Canyon  Pass  without  much  psalm-singing 
and  preaching." 

"Yeppy.  You're  right/'  declared  a  third  of  Jud- 
son's  hearers. 

"Let  alone  that  you're  all  wrong,"  put  in  Judson 
again  with  energy,  "let's  look  at  the  thing  in  a  prac 
tical  way,  as  the  feller  said.  If  a  man  come  in  yere 
and  opened  a  shoe  shop  or  a  candy  pop  or  wanted  to 
sell  shoestrings,  we'd  give  him  the  glad  hand, 
wouldn't  we?  'Live  and  let  live/  has  always  been 
the  motto  of  Canyon  Pass,  ain't  it?" 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it,  Bill?" 

"Why,  you  big  gump!  Ain't  this  parson  got 
something  to  peddle?  His  stock  in  trade  is  reli 
gion,  and  he's  got  just  as  much  right  to  show  goods 
and  try  to  drum  up  trade  as  the  next  one,  ain't  he? 
He's  entitled  to  a  fair  deal.  And  Boss  Tolley,  Tom 
Hicks,  and  them  other  highbinders  can  sulk  in  their 
dens  and  suck  their  paws.  I  ain't  never  gone  ironed 
since  I  opened  this  shack,  nigh  thirty  years  ago.  But 
I'll  sling  a  gun  on  my  hip  and  act  as  body-guard  if 
it's  necessary  for  any  feller  that  ain't  getting  a  fair 
deal  in  this  town.  That's  gospel!" 

"I  never  knowed  ye  was  so  all-fired  religious, 
Bill,"  complained  one  of  his  surprised  hearers. 

"Religious!"  retorted  the  storekeeper.  "It  ain't 
that  I'm  religious — not  so's  you'd  notice  it.  But  I 
got  a  sense  of  fair  play, — dad  burn  it!  Here  comes 
the  parson  now,  boys." 


A  Beginning  95 

Hunt  and  Joe  Hurley  came  out  of  the  Wild  Rose 
Hotel.  The  minister  had  not  donned  his  clerical 
garments.  He  was  dressed  as  he  had  been  the  day 
before  when  he  arrived  on  the  stagecoach,  except 
for  the  hat  he  wore.  That  flopping-brimmed  head 
gear  which  he  had  taken  from  Tom  Hicks  crowned 
the  parson's  brush  of  crisp,  dark  hair. 

"Boys,"  said  Hurley,  when  they  came  near,  "meet 
Willie  Hunt.  He's  one  of  the  best  old  scouts  I  met 
when  I  was  East,  that  time  I  stood  that  college  on 
its  head,  like  I  told  you.  I  reckon  you  know  Willie 
is  a  real  man,  if  he  is  a  parson.  Mr.  Hunt,  meet 
Jib  Collins,  Cale  Mack,  Jim  Tierney,  and — last  but 
not  least — Bill  Judson,  who  is  the  honored  mentor  of 
this  camp." 

"Whatever  that  is,"  and  the  storekeeper  grinned, 
shaking  hands  in  turn  with  Hunt.  "This  yere  Joe 
Hurley  slings  language  at  times  that  sartainly  stops 
traffic.  He  can't  seem  to  get  over  it.  It  was  wished 
on  him  when  he  lived  East  that  time  he  is  always 
telling  us  about." 

Hunt  knew  how  to  meet  these  men — he  was  by 
nature  a  "good  mixer."  There  is  much  in  the  grasp 
of  a  hand,  a  steady  look,  an  unafraid  smile,  that 
recommends  the  stranger  to  such  bold  spirits.  The 
timid,  even  the  hesitant,  make  no  progress  with 
them. 

"Parson,"  pursued  Judson,  "we  was  just  discus- 
sin'  your  business  as  you  and  Joe  come  along.  In 


96          The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

my  opinion  we  need  you  yere  at  Canyon  Pass.  I'm 
speakin'  for  myself  alone,"  and  he  glared  at  the 
other  men  in  the  group  accusingly;  "but  I  can't  put  it 
too  strong.  We  need  ye.  To  my  mind  religion  is  a 
mignty  good  thing.  We're  loose  livin',  we're  loose 
talkin',  and  we  need  to  be  jacked  up  right  smart. 

"You  can  count  on  me,  parson,  to  back  any  play 
you  make,  clean  across  the  board.  I'm  for  you, 
strong.  We  need  meetin's  started.  We  ought  to 
have -a  Sunday  school  for  the  young  'uns.  We  need 
to  be  preached  at  and  prayed  with.  I  come  of  right 
strict  Presbyterian  stock,  and  when  I  was  a  lad 
I  was  used  to  all  the  means  of  grace,  I  was." 

"You  are  interested,  then,  Mr.  Judson,  in  any 
attempt  we  may  "make  to  inaugurate  services  here  on 
Sunday?"  Hunt  asked  cheerfully. 

"Youbetcha!"  was  the  hearty  rejoinder. 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Judson,"  Hunt  pursued,  "you 
understand  that,  to  have  successful  and  helpful 
services,  some  of  us  at  least  must  have  the  spirit 
of  service?" 

"Sure.    That's  what  I  tell  'em." 

"I  take  it  from  brief  observation  that  this  day — 
the  Sabbath — is  observed  very  little  at  present  in 
Canyon  Pass?" 

"True  as  true,"  said  the  storekeeper. 

"To  get  people  really  interested  in  divine  services 
on  this  day,  don't  you  think  we  should  begin  by 
making  some  difference — a  real  difference — be- 


A  Beginning  97 

tween  the  First  Day  and  the  other  six?"  Hunt 
continued,  eyeing  Judson  reflectively.  "If  we  who 
are  interested  in  the  betterment  of  the  community 
are  not  willing  to  lead  in  this  matter,  those  we  wish 
to  help  can  scarcely  follow. 

"Sunday  should  not  be  like  the  other  six  days  of 
the  week.  Your  mines  and  gold  washings  shut 
down  on  this  day.  How  about  other  secular  activi 
ties  ceasing — as  far  as  it  may  be  possible?" 

"I — I  reckon  you're  right,  parson,"  Judson  said, 
though  with  some  hesitation.  "Of  course,  the  boys 
have  been  used  to  having  their  freedom  on  Sundays, 
and  their  fun.  I  don't  believe  you  could  go  far  in 
shutting  down  the  saloons  and  gambling  tables — not 
right  at  first." 

"But  would  you  go  as  far  as  you  could  personally 
to  establish  a  better  standard  of  Sunday  observ 
ance?"  pursued  Hunt. 

"Heh?"  ejaculated  the  puzzled  Judson. 

Hunt,  still  smiling,  mounted  the  steps  of  the  store, 
closed  the  door,  and  turned  the  great  key  which  had 
been  left  in  the  outside  of  the  lock.  He  removed 
the  key  and  handed  it  to  Bill  Judson  as  he  came 
down  the  steps  again. 

"Mr.  Judson,"  he  said  in  a  perfectly  unmoved 
voice,  "if  you  will  begin  by  keeping  that  door  locked 
on  Sundays  you  will  be  leading  the  way  in  this  com 
munity  toward  a  proper  observance  of  the  Lord's 
Day." 


98  The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Joe  Hurley  was  on  the  point  of  bursting  out 
laughing.  But  he  thought  better  of  joining  Collinsv 
Mack,  and  Tierney  in  wild  expressions  of  joy  at  the 
old  man's  discomfiture. 

Judson's  face  turned  from  its  usual  weather- 
beaten  tan  to  a  purple-red.  His  rheumy  eyes 
sparked.  Then  slowly,  reflectively,  a  grin  wreathed 
his  tobacco-stained  lips  and  crinkled  the  outer  cor 
ners  of  his  eyelids. 

"Parson,"  he  said,  thrusting  out  his  hand  again, 
"you're  on !  I'll  show  these  fellers  I'm  a  good  sport. 
Nobody  was  ever  able  to  say  honestly  that  Bill  Jud- 
son  took  water;  and  I  won't  give  'em  the  chance't 
to  say  it  now." 


CHAPTER  X 

MUTTERINGS  OF  A   STORM 

IT  was  Joe  Hurley  who  saw  Betty  appear  on  the 
porch  of  the  hotel.  Perhaps  his  gaze  had  been  fixed 
in  that  direction  for  that  very  purpose.  It  was 
a  vision  to  draw  the  eyes  of  any  man  hungry  for  a 
picture  of  a  well-dressed  and  modest  young  woman. 
Betty  Hunt  was  like  nothing  that  had  ever  before 
stepped  out  upon  the  Main  Street  of  Canyon  Pass. 

"Come  on,  Willie,"  urged  Hurley,  seizing  the 
minister's  sleeve.  "You've  jarred  Judson  clean  to 
bedrock.  Spare  him  any  more  for  now.  Come  on. 
Your  sister  is  waiting  for  us  to  take  her  to  the 
Great  Hope." 

Betty  was  not  gaily  appareled.  Her  frock  was 
black  and  white,  and  so  was  her  hat.  She  still  re 
membered  Aunt  Prudence's  death — and  that  she  was 
a  parson's  sister !  But  it  was  the  way  the  frock  was 
made,  and  how  it  and  the  hat  became  her  that 
marked  Betty  as  an  object  of  approval,  to  the  male 
Passonians  at  least. 

"Such  a  beautiful  day,  Mr.  Hurley,"  Betty  ven 
tured.  "One  might  think  it  a  respectable  country 
town  if  only  one  could  forget  last  night." 

99 


ioo         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

She  stared  at  Hurley  with  accusation.  He  dropped 
his  head  sheepishly.  Somehow  Betty  Hunt  put  the 
matter  as  though  it  were  his  fault! 

"We're  going  to  change  all  that  in  time,"  said 
Hunt  cheerfully.  "These  people  are  not  so  bad, 
Betty " 

"That  they  couldn't  be  worse?  Yes,  I  know/' 
retorted  his  sister. 

"Why,  Betty!"  murmured  Hunt,  "isn't  that  a  bit 
uncharitable  ?" 

"I  have  no  thought  for  charity  in  a  place  like 
this,"  declared  the  girl.  "Such  dirt,  vileness  and 
disorder  I  never  dreamed  of !  These  people  are  not 
even  human!  I  cannot  excuse  them.  No  branch 
of  the  human  family  could  possibly  be  ignorant 
enough  for  us  to  excuse  what  I  have  already  seen 
about  me  in  Canyon  Pass." 

"Great  saltpeter!"  murmured  Hurley. 

"You  did  not  tell  my  brother  the  half  of  it!" 
she  cried,  flaring  at  the  mining  man.  "You  hid  the 
worst.  You  only  said  things  in  your  letters  that 
you  knew  would  attract  him  here." 

Joe  Hurley  started  back  a  step.  If  a  kitten  he 
had  stooped  to  pet  had  suddenly  turned  and  gouged 
him  with  its  claws  he  could  have  been  no  more 
startled. 

But  Betty  Hunt  proved  herself  no  kitten.  She 
was  usually  a  very  self-contained  and  quite  unex- 


Mutterings  of  a  Storm  101 

cited  young  woman.  It  was  only  for  a  minute  that 
she  allowed  her  anger  to  flame  out. 

"Now,  that's  enough  about  that,"  she  pursued, 
still  with  a  frown.  "The  thing  is  done.  We  are 
here.  I  do  not  believe  that  Ford  will  ever  be 
happy  in  Canyon  Pass;  and  I  know  I  shall  not." 

"Better  not  speak  so  positively,  Bet,"  said  Hunt 
coolly.  A  brother  seldom  is  much  impressed  by  his 
sister's  little  ruffles  of  temper.  "You  may  have  to 
change  your  opinion.  My  belief  is  that  none  of  us 
can  find  happiness  in  a  new  environment.  We  must 
take  the  happiness  with  us  to  any  new  abode." 

Hurley  was  much  subdued  during  their  walk 
through  the  town.  His  knowledge  of  girls  like  Bet 
ty  was  very  slight.  He  had  never  had  a  sister  and 
he  could  not  remember  his  mother. 

Even  girls  like  Nell  Blossom  had  not  been  fre 
quent  events  in  the  mining  man's  life.  His  two  years 
spent  in  the  East  had  been  almost  as  barren  of  femi 
nine  society  as  his  years  in  the  West. 

Now,  it  must  be  confessed,  Betty  Hunt  had  "got 
him  going,"  to  quote  his  own  thought  in  the  matter. 
Not  that  Hurley  was  of  a  fickle  temperament.  But 
he  was  not  a  man  to  eat  his  heart  out  in  an  utterly 
impossible  cause. 

Nell  had  shown  him  plainly  that  she  had  no  use 
for  him  save  as  an  acquaintance.  He  could  not 
even  count  himself  her  friend  now,  for  since  her 


IO2         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

return  from  Hoskins  she  had  seemed  more  remote 
from  the  men  of  Canyon  Pass  than  ever  before. 

So,  Joe  Hurley  had  already  put  Nell  out  of  his 
mind  in  that  way  before  Betty  Hunt  had  appeared 
on  the  scene.  And,  it  seemed,  he  was  fated  to  be  at 
tracted  by  a  distant  star.  The  minister's  sister  was 
distinctly  of  another  world — and  a  world  far,  far 
above  that  of  Canyon  Pass,  Hurley  told  himself. 

It  was  not  Betty's  finnicky  ways,  as  her  brother 
bluntly  called  them,  that  held  the  girl  from  the  East 
so  dear  in  Joe's  eyes.  It  was  in  spite  of  her  disap 
proval  of  Canyon  Pass  and  all  that  lay  therein.  The 
mining  man  was  deeply  interested  in  the  develop 
ment  of  the  camp.  He  had  done  much  in  a  business 
way  to  improve  conditions  here.  He  hoped  to  do 
more. 

He  had  quite  realized  that  the  place  needed  some 
thing  besides  modern  business  methods  to  raise  it 
out  of  the  slough  in  which  it  wallowed  as  a  com 
munity.  This  realization,  shared  with  such  people 
as  Bill  Judson  and  old  Mother  Tubbs,  had  led  Hur 
ley  to  interest  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  in 
Canyon  Pass.  He  foresaw  the  camp  in  time  as  well 
governed  a  place  as  Crescent  City. 

Betty's  scorn  and  vituperation  regarding  the  short 
comings  of  the  Pass  actually  pained  Hurley.  Was 
it  so  bad  as  she  seemed  to  think  it  was  ?  This  girl 
from  the  East  was  very  positive  in  her  dislike  for 
the  place  and  its  people. 


Mutterings  of  a  Storm  103 

Then  he  looked  over  her  head  at  the  quietly  smil 
ing  face  of  Hunt.  He  did  not  seem  to  share  his 
sister's  opinion  that  the  Pass  was  beyond  redemp 
tion.  There  was,  after  all,  a  quality  of  sanity  and 
stability  about  Hunt  that  bolstered  Hurley's  hope. 

'That  boy  is  all  right,"  thought  Hurley  finally. 
"He  sees  things  with  a  clear  eye.  And  our  crude- 
ness  doesn't  scare  him.  His  sister Well !  what 

could  you  expect  of  a  pretty,  fluffy  little  thing  like 
her  ?  This  place  is  bound  to  look  rotten  to  her  at  the 
first.  But  at  that,  she  may  change  her  opinion." 

In  fact,  Joe  Hurley  had  determination  enough  to 
believe  that  he  was  just  the  chap  who  could  change 
these  opinions  of  Betty  Hunt !  His  non-success  with 
Nell  Blossom  had  not  convinced  him  that  he  would 
never  be  able  to  attract  other  girls. 

Right  at  the  start  Joe  had  been  enamored  of  the 
fragile  beauty  of  the  parson's  sister.  Hers  was  not 
the  robust,  if  petite,  prettiness  of  Nell  Blossom.  It 
was  a  beauty  of  spirit  and  character  that  looked 
out  of  Betty's  gray  eyes.  Her  very  calmness  and 
primness  intrigued  the  mining  man. 

Opposite  is  attracted  by  opposite.  Because  he  was 
so  open  and  hearty  himself,  Hurley  admired  the 
daintiness  and  delicacy  of  Betty.  Her  primness, 
even  her  shrinking  from  the  things  to  which  he  was 
so  used  in  and  about  Canyon  Pass,  pleased  the  young 
man  in  a  way. 

Here  was  just  the  sort  of  girl  he  desired  to  es- 


The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

tablish  in  his  home — a  real  home — when  he  got  one. 
Joe  Hurley  did  not  propose  to  live  in  a  bachelor 
shack  in  the  purlieus  of  Canyon  Pass  all  his  life — 
by  no  means !  He  was  getting  on.  The  Great  Hope 
was  panning  out  well.  It  had  every  promise  of 
being  a  big  thing  in  time.  He  was  going  to  be  rich. 
Betty  Hunt  would  grace  the  head  of  the  table  of  a 
millionaire — wear  the  clothes  a  prince  might  buy  for 
his  wife — hold  the  respect  and  admiration  that  the 
highest  lady  in  the  land  might  claim. 

"I've  got  to  have  that  girl,"  thought  Hurley. 
"And  I'm  going  after  her!" 

They  climbed  the  steep  road  of  rolled  rock  to  the 
highland  overlooking  the  town  and  giving  them  a 
view  to  the  first  turn  of  the  canyon  bed  of  Runaway 
River.  When  the  squalid  sight  of  Canyon  Pass 
could  be  shut  out  of  the  mind,  even  Betty  admitted 
that  the  dimming  light  in  the  canyon  lent  a  f  airylike 
charm  to  all  its  ruggedness.  It  was  a  slot  made  by 
giants  in  the  hills  without  doubt.  She  expressed  a 
desire  to  see  more  of  it. 

"I'll  get  you  a  good  cayuse,"  said  Hurley  eager 
ly.  "Got  any  riding  duds  with  you?" 

"I  have  my  habit  in  one  of  my  trunks." 

The  Westerner  looked  at  her  doubtfully.  "Don't 
know  about  long  skirts  flapping  around  the  legs  of 
these  Western  critters " 

"Habits  are  not  made  with  skirts  nowadays,  Mr. 
Hurley,"  Betty  interrupted  coldly.  "Fashion — 


Mutterings  of  a  Storm  105 

even  in  the  Fenway — demands  that  the  feminine 
riding  suit  shall  be  mannish." 

"Oh!  If  you  ride  astraddle,"  replied  Hurley, 
without  realizing  that  his  phrase  shocked  her,  "we 
can  find  you  a  horse  that  will  fill  the  bill.  I've  got 
one  that  I  ride  myself,  and  I  can  pick  up  one  for 
Willie." 

"Most  agreeable  to  me,  I'm  sure,"  agreed  the 
parson.  "I  can  ride  after  a  fashion.  Bet  got  her 
training  at  boarding  school.  If  Aunt  Prudence 
knew  all  her  niece  got  at  that  institution  the  dear 
old  lady  would  have  been  shocked." 

Betty  did  not  smile.  There  were  things  that  had 
happened  to  her  at  boarding  school  that  Ford  knew 
nothing  about.  His  words  aroused  in  her  mind  the 
carking  memory  of  the  secret  that  had  changed 
Betty  Hunt's  life  completely — the  secret  that  had 
killed  all  the  sparkle  and  winsome  lightness  in  the 
girl's  nature.  She  became  silent  and  after  that  only 
listened  to  the  talk  of  the  two  young  men. 

Not  that  she  was  not  interested  as  they  went  on 
and  Hurley  pointed  out  the  several  claims  being 
worked  with  the  most  modern  methods  of  the  Oreode 
Company,  and  the  Nufall  Syndicate,  and  by  himself 
and  his  associates  at  the  Great  Hope.  This  mining 
business  was  all  new  to  the  girl,  and  she  had  an 
inquiring  mind.  She  did  not  shrink  at  all,  when 
Hurley  suggested  a  descent  into  the  shaft  and  pro- 


106         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

duced  slickers  and  rubber  boots  and  tarpaulins  to 
put  on  over  their  clothes. 

The  man  in  charge  let  them  down  in  the  bucket, 
and  a  gasoline  torch  showed  them  all  that  there  was 
to  see  under  the  surface.  Hurley  explained  with 
pride  how  he  had  found  and  developed  the  first 
paying  lead  in  the  Great  Hope,  but  that  the  name  of 
the  mine  foreshadowed  a  much  richer  vein  that  he 
was  confident  was  soon  to  be  opened.  Science  and 
that  "sixth  sense"  of  the  miner  assured  him  that  the 
big  thing  was  coming. 

"We're  always  looking  toward  El  Dorado,  we 
miners,"  he  said  with  a  laugh.  "It's  hope  that  keeps 
us  up." 

"  'El  Dorado'— the  hoped-for  land,"  repeated 
Betty  softly.  And  then,  standing  there  in  the  flick 
ering  radiance  of  the  torch,  she  repeated,  while  the 
men  were  silent,  that  concluding  paragraph  of  Rob 
ert  Louis  Stevenson's  essay : 

"  'O  toiling  hands  of  mortals !  O  unwearied  feet, 
traveling  ye  know  not  whither !  Soon,  soon  it  seems 
to  you,  you  must  come  forth  on  some  conspicuous 
hilltop  and,  but  a  little  way  further,  against  the 
setting  sun,  descry  the  spires  of  El  Dorado.  Little 
do  ye  know  your  own  blessedness,  for  to  travel  hope 
fully  is  a  better  thing  than  to  arrive,  and  the  true 
success  is  to  labor/  " 


Mutterings  of  a  Storm  107 

"Amen,"  Hunt  commented  seriously. 

"You  said  it,"  agreed  the  mining  man  with  that 
bluff  emphasis  that  did  not  shock  Betty  so  much 
now  as  it  might  at  the  beginning.  "That's  what 
keeps  me  going.  Stevenson  knew  what  he  was 
writing  about.  But,  we  would  have  considered  him 
a  weakling  out  here,  I  am  afraid.  We  are  inclined 
to  judge  everything  here  in  terms  of  muscle  and 
brawn." 

"But  it  has  been  your  brains,  Joe,  not  your  brawn, 
that  has  carried  you  so  far  in  this  work,"  Hunt  de 
clared  warmly. 

Hurley  sighed  as  they  went  back  to  the  shaft. 
"Let  me  tell  you  I  have  had  to  use  considerable 
brawn,  Willie,  in  handling  these  roughnecks  that 
work  for  me." 

He  laughed  again.  Joe  Hurley  could  not  be 
sober  for  long.  And  his  temper  exploded  when  he 
had  to  shout  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  watchmen  when  they  wanted  to  get 
up  to  the  surface. 

"This  feller  isn't  worth  the  powder  to  blow  him 
from  here  to  Jericho,"  grumbled  Hurley.  "I  always 
miss  old  Steve  Siebert  when  he  slopes  for  the  desert, 
as  he's  bound  to  do  every  spring.  That  old  desert 
rat  is  always  here  over  Sunday  to  see  that  every 
thing  is  all  right,  when  he's  on  the  job.  But  he 
just  has  to  go  off  prospecting  once  in  so  often." 

He  told  them  more  about  -Siebert  and  Andy  Me- 


io8         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Cann  as  they  went  away  from  the  claim.  Betty 
listened  as  before  with  quiet  interest,  but  she  made 
no  comment.  Hurley  was  not  at  all  sure  that  she 
had  enjoyed,  or  even  approved  of  their  visit  to  the 
mine  when  she  and  Hunt  parted  from  him  at  his 
own  shack,  although  she  thanked  him  politely. 

The  walk  did  not  end  for  Hunt  and  his  sister 
without  a  more  adventurous  incident.  The  sun  had 
disappeared  and  the  dusk  had  begun  to  thicken  in 
corners  and  by-streets  as  they  approached  the  hotel. 
There,  at  the  mouth  of  a  narrow  lane,  two  figures 
stood,  a  man  and  a  girl,  and  their  voices  were  sharp 
and  angry. 

"That's  what  I'm  telling  you,"  the  man's  voice 
drawled,  a  note  in  it  that  at  once  raised  in  Hunt 
that  feeling  that  any  decent  man  experiences  who 
hears  one  of  his  own  sex  so  address  a  woman. 
"You  got  to  come  to  it,  and  you  might  as  well 
come  now  as  later.  I  got  you  on  the  hip — that  I 
have.  Understand  ?" 

"I  understand  nothing  of  the  kind,  Tolley.  You're 
a  bluffer  and  a  beast!  And  if  you  don't  let  me 
alone " 

"Don't  fool  yourself,'*  interrupted  the  man.  "I 
won't  let  you  alone  till  you  come  back  to  the  Grub 
Stake.  But  I  won't  talk  to  you  about  it  again.  I'll 
talk  to  others." 

Then  the  girl  told  him  angrily  to  do  his  worst. 


Mutterings  of  a  Storm  109 

Betty  attempted  to  pass  on  swiftly;  but  the  young 
man  hesitated. 

"Do  for  goodness'  sake  come  along,  Ford !"  whis 
pered  his  sister,  looking  back  at  him. 

Back  in  Ditson  Corners — or  in  almost  any  other 
Eastern  town — the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt 
would  scarcely  have  shown  his  interest  in  such  a 
scene  on  the  street,  save  perhaps  to  speak  to  a  con 
stable  or  policeman  about  it. 

But  there  was  something  here  he  could  not  ig 
nore.  Nor  was  it  entirely  because  he  recognized 
the  angry  voice  of  the  girl,  although  he  had  not  as 
yet  seen  her  face  in  the  dusk. 

"You'll  do  what  I  tell  you/'  muttered  the  bully 
with  an  oath,  as  Hunt  stepped  nearer.  "If  you  don't 
come  back  to  the  Grub  Stake  to  sing  to-morrow 
night,  I'll  let  the  whole  o'  Canyon  Pass  know " 

It  was  just  then  that  Hunt's  hand  dropped  upon 
Boss  Tolley's  shoulder.  Nor  did  it  drop  lightly. 
The  parson  twisted  the  big  man  around  by  one  mus 
cular  exertion  and  looked  into  his  flushed  face. 

"Don't  you  think  you've  said  enough  to  the  young 
lady?"  Hunt  asked  quietly.  "You  have  evidently 
forgotten  yourself." 

"What— why,  you  fool  tenderfoot!" 

"Suppose  you  go,  Miss  Blossom,"  suggested  Hunt 
with  unruffled  voice.  "Let  me  speak  to  this  man." 

But  the  minister  had  quite  mistaken  Nell  Blos 
som's  temper.  She  turned  on  him  like  a  shot. 


i  io         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"What  are  you  butting  in  for,  I'd  like  to  know? 
I  can  take  care  of  myself — always  have  and  always 
expect  to."  Then  she  laughed  harshly,  turning  to 
Tolley  again.  "Better  beat  it,  Tolley,  or  the  parson 
will  do  something  to  you  besides  grabbing  your 
hat." 

The  dance-hall  keeper,  swearing  still,  jerked  away 
from  Hunt's  grasp.  He  did  not  seek  to  continue 
the  quarrel,  however.  He  abruptly  turned  up  the 
alley  and  disappeared. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Ford!"  ejaculated  Miss 
Betty. 

Nell  Blossom,  thus  attracted  to  the  other  girl, 
stepped  nearer  and  stared  at  her.  Her  own  face  was 
unsmiling.  If  it  had  not  been  so  really  pretty  one 
might  have  said  it  was  a  black  look  that  she  gave 
Betty.  But  it  was  an  impish  look,  too. 

"There  are  some  things  you'd  better  learn  if  you 
are  going  to  stay  in  this  camp,  parson,"  said  the 
singer.  "The  principal  thing  is  to  mind  your  own 
business.  If  I  ever  need  your  help  in  any  little 
thing,  I'll  call  on  you." 

She  passed  them  both,  still  staring — now  with 
curiosity — at  Betty  and  went  on  along  the  street. 
Betty  seized  her  brother's  arm. 

"What  a  horrid  little  creature!"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  STORM  ABOUT  TO  BURST 

THERE  was  a  strangely  paradoxical  feeling  in  the 
Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt's  mind.  Nell  Blossom 
was  a  subject  of  thought  he  could  not  escape.  He 
could  not  wholly  overlook  her  manners  and  speech ; 
yet  he  did  not  feel  that  she  was  blameworthy  for 
either. 

What  chance  had  this  wild  blossom  of  a  girl  ever 
had,  out  in  this  wilderness,  the  daughter  of  a  drunken 
ne'er-do-well,  as  he  had  been  told,  taught  from 
her  childhood  to  sing  for  her  own  living  and  for 
her  father's  in  the  saloons  of  mining  camps ?  Why, 
almost  any  other  girl  would  have  gone  bad — as  bad 
as  could  be.  And  he  knew  Nell  Blossom  was  not 
bad. 

He  really  wished  he  might  make  Joe  Hurley  his 
confidant  about  the  girl,  but,  harking  back  to  that 
letter  of  Joe's  in  which  the  latter  had  spoken  so  en 
thusiastically  of  Nell,  the  parson  felt  that  his  friend 
was  too  strongly  prejudiced  in  Nell's  favor  to  risk 
his  criticizing  her  in  any  way. 

One  question  recurred  again  and  again  to  him: 
What  did  that  man  Tolley,  who  he  knew  was  the 

in 


ii2         THe  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

proprietor  of  the  Grub  Stake  saloon  and  dance  hall, 
mean  by  commanding  Nell  to  return  to  his  employ 
ment? 

Betty  saw  her  brother's  more  serious  mien,  and  it 
must  be  confessed,  wickedly  hoped  that  the  situation 
as  it  opened  before  him  here  at  Canyon  Pass  was 
beginning  to  appall  him.  How  could  it  do  other 
wise?  Let  alone  the  crudeness  and  lack  of  con 
veniences  in  their  dwelling  place,  the  nature  of  the 
people  with  whom  they  must  associate,  and  the  utter 
forlornness  of  life  here  in  the  mining  town,  that  last 
incident  as  they  walked  back  from  the  Great  Hope 
Mine  should  impress  Ford  with  the  utter  impracti 
cability  of  his  trying  to  begin  a  pastorate  here. 

The  awful  ruffian  who  had  sworn  at  the  girl — 
horrid  as  she  seemed  to  be — shocked  Betty  beyond 
expression.  And  what  a  look  that  Nell  Blossom, 
she  had  asked  her  brother  the  singer's  name,  had 
given  her,  Betty  Hunt!  As  unfriendly,  as  hateful, 
as  though  the  Eastern  girl  had  done  the  singer  some 
grievous  wrong. 

The  strange  girl  had  insulted  and  flouted  Ford, 
too.  Betty's  loyalty  to  her  brother  was  up  in  arms 
at  that,  if  the  truth  were  told.  She  could  not  but 
admire  after  all  Ford's  cool  assumption  of  authority 
with  the  ruffian  and  with  the  cabaret  singer  as  well. 
Why,  Ford  did  not  seem  to  be  afraid  of  these  people 
at  all.  Even  Joe  Hurley  could  have  been  no  more 


The  Storm  about  to  Burst          113 

sure  of  himself  in  such  a  situation  than  her  brother 
had  proved  to  be. 

For  in  spite  of  her  disapproval  of  the  mining  man 
she  realized  that  Joe  was  perfectly  able  to  handle 
such  situations  and  such  rude  people  with  equanim 
ity.  But  then,  he  was  of  this  soil.  He  was  of  the 
West.  To  tell  the  truth,  Betty  was  inclined  to  think 
of  Hurley  as  being  quite  as  bad  in  manners,  speech, 
and  outlook  on  life  as  the  other  people  of  Canyon 
Pass. 

She  would  say  nothing  about  all  this  to  her 
brother.  Betty  Hunt  was  quite  capable  of  thinking 
things  out  for  herself.  Prejudiced  she  had  been — 
and  was — against  the  town  and  their  visit  to  it; 
but  she  did  not  utterly  lack  logic.  She  went  to  bed 
that  second  night  in  the  Wild  Rose  Hotel  with  some 
what  different  thoughts  in  her  mind  after  all.  At 
least,  she  did  not  drag  the  washstand  in  front  of  her 
locked  door  as  a  barrier. 

In  the  morning  the  mining  man  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  hotel  riding  his  big  bay  and  leading 
two  other  saddled  horses.  The  freight  wagons  had 
come  in  the  evening  before,  and  Betty  had  got  her 
trunks.  Out  of  one  she  had  resurrected  the  riding 
habit  which  she  had  not  worn  of  late,  but  which 
still  fitted  her  perfectly  and  was  chic. 

But  Betty  was  daunted  by  the  look  of  the  mount 
Hurley  had  selected  for  her. 


ii4         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Mr.  Hurley!"  exclaimed  Betty  emphatically,  "on 
your  honor,  is  that  horse  safe?" 

"As  safe  as  a  church.  You  hitch  him  on  a  rail 
road  track,  and  he'd  only  step  just  far  enough  aside 
for  the  lightning  express  to  go  by  without  shaving 
him." 

She  looked  at  him,  both  puzzled  and  disapproving. 
"I  never  know  when  you  are  serious,"  she  finally 
said. 

"You  can  bet  your  last  blue  chip  on  the  fact  that 
I  am  taking  no  chances  of  a  hoss  throwing  you  or 
cutting  up  rusty  while  you're  on  his  back,"  the  man 
returned  earnestly.  "Hardscrabble  is  all  right,  Miss 
Betty." 

He  offered  his  hand  to  Betty  for  her  to  step  into 
with  all  the  grace  of  a  courtier.  He  looked  up  into 
her  eyes,  too,  as  she  mounted  past  his  shoulder  into 
the  saddle,  and  his  smile  was  so  friendly  that  she 
could  not  help  smiling  in  return. 

Hunt  swung  himself  on  to  his  own  mount — a 
rather  rangy  cayuse  that  promised  speed  as  well  as 
endurance.  Hurley  bounded  into  his  own  saddle 
from  the  step  without  touching  the  stirrups  until  he 
was  seated.  Bouncer  stood  up  on  his  hind  legs, 
snorted,  came  down  stiff-legged,  and  bucked  once 
just  to  show  that  he  was  in  fine  fettle.  The  other 
horses  cantered  away  from  the  hotel  more  sedately. 

They  spattered  through  the  West  Fork  and  went 
into  the  canyon  along  the  river  trail.  There  was 


The  Storm  about  to  Burst 

not  a  soul  in  sight  but  themselves  when  they  turned 
the  first  out-thrust  of  the  cliff.  Runaway  River 
brawled  in  its  bed.  The  huge,  threatening  cap  of 
the  Overhang  cast  its  shadow  almost  to  the  opposite 
wall.  The  mighty  rocks,  the  deep  cracks  in  which 
the  brush  clung  with  tenuous  roots,  the  wind-wrung, 
anguished,  stunted  trees,  all  held  the  visitors  spell 
bound.  Such  a  devil's  slot  in  the  hills  they  could 
never  have  imagined  without  actually  seeing  it. 

"Suppose  that  should  fall?'*  Betty  broke  out 
pointing  up  at  the  frowning  cap  of  the  cliff. 

"That's  what  we  are  supposing  all  the  time,  Miss 
Betty,"  replied  Hurley  quietly.  "Part  of  it  did 
fall  about  twenty  years  ago.  That  was  long  before 
my  time,  of  course.  But  Bill  Judson  and  some  of 
the  other  old-timers  can  tell  you  about  it.  It  came 
pretty  near  ringing  the  death-knell  for  Canyon 
Pass." 

"Backed  up  the  river  into  the  town,  did  it?" 
asked  the  logical  Hunt. 

"I'll  say  it  did !  And  over  the  town.  Judson  says 
it  was  so  deep  over  his  store  that  he  went  out  from 
the  headlands  in  a  flatboat  and  grappled  through 
the  skylight  of  his  joint  for  tobacco  out  of  the  show 
case.  Takes  that  old-timer  to  spread  it  on  thick," 
and  he  chuckled. 

"But  is  it  likely  to  happen  again?"  cried  Betty. 

"Any  day — any  hour — any  minute,"  repeated 
Hurley  quietly.  *There  are  thousands  of  tons  of 


n6        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

stuff  up  there  that  may  fall.  Choke  the  canyon  half- 
wall  high.  If  it  does,  there'll  be  a  lake  here  that'll 
furnish  water  enough  to  irrigate  blame  near  all 
of  the  Topaz  Desert — believe  me.  Canyon  Pass  will 
have  to  go  into  raising  frogs  or  such,"  and  he 
laughed. 

"Oh!  I  felt  that  it  was  a  dangerous  place  to 
live  in,"  murmured  Betty. 

"Great  saltpeter !"  exclaimed  Hurley  again.  "No 
worse  than  folks  who  live  on  the  sides  of  volcanoes 
in  Italy,  for  instance.  Or  in  the  earthquake  belt 
along  the  Pacific  coast.  Pshaw!" 

"But — but  there  is  so  much  room  out  here,  Mr. 
Hurley,"  cried  Betty.  "Why  not  choose  a  safer 
place  in  which  to  establish  a  town?" 

"The  mines  and  washings.  Gold  established 
Canyon  Pass.  It  isn't  a  beautiful  spot,  but  it's 
handy.  We  got  to  just  keep  on  hoping  that  the 
Overhang  doesn't  fall." 

"There  is  a  place  where  some  of  it  has  fallen — 
and  recently,"  Hunt  broke  in,  with  some  gravity. 

Half  blocking  the  trail,  and  bulking  along  the 
river's  edge  for  perhaps  ten  yards,  was  a  heap  of 
gravel  and  soil  on  which  no  grass  or  other  verdure 
grew.  Looking  up  the  sloping  canyon  wall  they 
could  trace  the  downfall  of  this  small  slide  for  more 
than  half  the  distance  to  the  summit. 

"What  is  that  sticking  out  of  it?"  asked  Betty. 
"A  stick?" 


The  Storm  about  to  Burst          117 

Hurley  sniffed  like  a  bird-dog  that  has  just  raised 
a  covey.  He  was  to  windward  of  the  heap.  Hunt 
had  forced  his  mount  nearer  from  the  other  side. 

"That  is  not  a  stick,"  he  said  quietly.  "It  looks 
to  me  like " 

Hurley  ejaculated  something  that  was  very  near 
an  oath.  He  flung  himself  out  of  his  saddle  and 
strode  over  the  rubble.  He  stopped  and  examined 
the  thing  Betty  had  seen,  even  touching  it  with  his 
gauntleted  hand. 

"Never  heard  of  this/'  he  muttered.  "Odd,  I 
must  say!" 

"What  is  it  ?"  asked  Hunt. 

"A  horse's  leg.  Been  peeked  clean  by  the  vul 
tures — not  by  coyotes,  or  the  bones  would  be  torn 
apart.  Well!" 

"Oh,  there  has  been  a  dreadful  accident  here! 
Is  somebody  buried  under  that  pile  of  gravel?"  de 
manded  Betty. 

"Not  likely.  Just  a  cayuse.  Maybe  a  wan 
dering  critter.  Happened  to  be  right  here — taking 
a  drink  at  the  riverside,  maybe — when  the  slide  fell. 
Or  it  might  have  been  the  cause  of  the  slip.  Came 
down  with  it,"  Hurley  explained  in  jerky  sentences. 
"The  weight  of  the  hoss  might  have  broke  off  a 
piece  of  the  Overhang  and — here  he  is!" 

This  seemed  to  satisfy  him.  He  went  back  to 
his  own  horse  and  mounted  again. 

They  rode  several  miles  farther,  but  Joe  Hurley 


n8         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

did  not  seem  quite  so  volatile  as  usual.  Was  he 
"studying"  on  the  buried  horse  by  the  riverside? 
At  least,  when  they  rode  back  toward  noon,  he  fell 
behind  at  the  point  where  the  small  landslip  had 
landed,  halting  his  horse  beside  it  for  a  moment. 
He  overtook  his  friends  in  a  short  time,  however, 
but  did  not  say  anything. 

As  they  sighted  the  ford  again,  down  from  the 
upland  on  this  side  came  a  dashing  and  brilliant- 
hued  figure — a  girl  on  a  cream-colored  pony.  Hunt 
recognized  Nell  Blossom  at  first  glance.. 

"Hi,  Nell !"  shouted  Hurley,  raising  his  hand  and 
arm,  palm  out,  in  the  Indian  peace  sign. 

She  scarcely  nodded  to  him,  but  she  grinned 
elfishly  as  she  rode  down  into  the  shallows  and 
her  pony's  flying  feet  spattered  them  all  at  the  riv 
er's  edge.  She  scarcely  seemed  to  give  Hunt  and 
his  sister  a  glance.  She  plied  the  quirt  that  hung 
from  her  wrist,  and  the  cream-colored  pony  reck 
lessly  forded  the  stream  and  climbed  the  further 
bank. 

"How  impolite,"  murmured  the  Eastern  girl, 
brushing  the  drops  from  her  sleeve. 

"She's  a  little  devil,"  agreed  Hurley  frankly. 
"That's  the  lady  I  was  telling  you  of,  Willie.  She's 
as  wild  as  a  jack  rabbit." 

Hunt  nodded  soberly.  He  made  no  other  com 
ment.  As  they  rode  up  into  Main  Street  they  hrard 
wild  yells  and  hootings  from  the  far  end,  then  the 


The  Storm  about  to  Burst          119 

pattering  of  a  pony's  rapid  hoofbeats.  Back  toward 
the  ford  tore  the  cream-colored  pony  bearing  the 
bizarre  figure  of  the  cabaret  singer. 

Now  Nell  rode  without  touching  the  bridle  reins. 
She  swung  the  whip  and  cracked  it  sharply.  In 
the  other  hand  she  gripped  a  six-shooter  of  practical 
size  and  weight. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  that  crazy  creature  ?" 
asked  Betty. 

Hurley  merely  laughed.  Nell  Blossom  approached 
at  a  wild  gallop.  Men  appeared  at  the  doors  of 
various  stores  and  saloons  along  the  street  and 
yelled  their  delight. 

"Ye-yip!  Yip-py-yip!"  shrieked  the  appreciative 
audience.  "Oh,  you  Nell!  Ye-yow!  Git  out  o' 
town!" 

The  girl,  her  face  glowing,  her  hair  flying  from 
under  her  hat,  her  whole  figure  electric  with  life 
and  abundance  of  spirit,  rode  faster  and  faster. 
As  she  approached  the  front  of  the  Grub  Stake  she 
saw  the  slouching  figure  of  its  proprietor  backed 
against  the  wall  by  the  door,  smoking.  He  grinned 
evilly  at  the  rider. 

Nell  pressed  the  trigger.  Five  staccato  shots 
whistled  skyward.  The  sixth  ruffled  the  lank  hair  on 
Boss  Tolley's  head  and  splintered  the  door  frame 
just  above  it! 

The  divekeeper  dodged  and  crouched,  as  though 
expecting  another  bullet.  He  almost  slunk  into  his 


I2O         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

barroom.  Then  he  realized  that  the  girl  had  made 
a  show  of  him  and  was  riding  on,  applauded  by  the 
laughter  and  shrieks  of  the  onlookers. 

He  whirled,  and,  lifting  both  hands,  shook  the 
clenched  fists  after  the  flying  Nell.  He  was  almost 
apoplectic  with  rage.  He  burst  forth: 

"You  crazy,  derned  hoptoad  of  a  gal!  Some 
body  ought  to  grab  you  off  that  animal.  Shootin' 
at  folks  thataway !  Is  that  what  you  done  when 
you  drove  poor  Dick  Beckworth  over  the  edge  of 
the  Overhang?" 

The  incoming  trio  of  riders — Hurley,  Hunt  and 
Betty — were  almost  opposite  the  Grub  Stake  as 
Tolley  emitted  these  words.  In  a  flash  the  mining 
man  was  out  of  the  saddle  and  standing  in  front 
of  the  startled  Tolley. 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  miserable  scoundrel?" 
demanded  Joe  in  so  threatening  a  tone  that  Tolley 
fell  back  against  the  side  of  the  building  again. 
"What  do  you  mean  about  Dick  Beckworth?" 

Hunt  had  spurred  his  own  horse  nearer.  He 
feared  Joe  would  do  something  rash.  The  rolling, 
bloodshot  eye  of  the  divekeeper  expressed  fear  of 
the  other;  but  he  was  too  much  enraged  to  call 
caution  to  his  aid  at  that  moment. 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  he  rumbled.  "You  don't 
know  it,  and  nobody  else  in  Canyon  Pass,  I  reckon, 
knows  it  but  me.  But  I  know  that  derned  crazy 


The  Storm  about  to  Burst          121 

gal  was  the  cause  of  Dick  Beckworth's  end.  And 
a  mean  end  it  was." 

"Dick  the  Devil,  dead?" 

"That's  what  he  is,"  said  Tolley  with  less  ve 
hemence.  He  sensed  that  it  would  not  be  wise  to 
be  so  vociferous  with  Joe  Hurley's  eyes  glaring  into 
his  own.  "Dick  come  to  a  mighty  mean  end.  I  seen 
it;  but  I  didn't  know  what  it  meant" 

"It's  more  likely  you  killed  him,  Tolley — if  he's 
dead.  Or  did  you  have  him  gunned  by  Tom  Hicks 
or  some  other  of  your  friends?"  demanded  Hurley 
sharply. 

"I  never!  Poor  Dick  wasn't  expectin'  nawthin', 
I  allow.  That  crazy  gal " 

"Be  blamed  easy  how  you  bring  Nell's  name  into 
this,"  muttered  Hurley,  his  hand  upon  the  butt  of 
his  own  gun. 

Hunt  leaned  from  his  saddle  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  friend's  shoulder.  Hurley  did  not  look 
back — he  knew  better,  for  there  was  likewise  a  gun 
at  Boss  Tolley's  belt. 

"All  right,  Willie,"  the  mining  man  said.  "Let's 
listen  to  what  this  rat  has  to  say.  But  be  blame 
careful,  Tolley,  that  you  don't  raise  your  voice  too 
high.  If  you  do,  I'll  certainly  maul  you  a  pile." 


CHAPTER  XII 
TOLLEY'S  TALE 

HUNT  had  a  fee  ing  that  he  was  present  at  one 
of  those  tense  scei  is  of  a  Western  cinema  drama, 
where  the  heroic  gunman  holds  the  villain  under  the 
muzzle  of  his  lethal  weapon. 

He  might  have  leaned  from  his  horse  again  and 
plucked  both  Joe  Hurley's  gun  and  that  of  the  dive- 
keeper  from  their  holsters.  But  he  thought  twice 
about  that.  Neither  of  the  men  was  in  the  mood  to 
brook  interference.  Besides,  the  parson  was  keenly 
alive  to  the  mystery  manifested  in  Tolley's  words 
regarding  Nell  Blossom  and  the  man  called  Dick 
the  Devil. 

Nobody  else  was  near  enough  to  have  overheard 
what  passed  between  Tolley  and  Joe  Hurley.  None 
of  the  other  Passonians,  amused  by  Nell's  wild 
escapade,  drew  nearer,  and  Betty  had  ridden  on  to 
the  hotel,  refusing  to  betray  the  least  interest  in  such 
a  rude  scene. 

"Speak  up,  Tolley!"  commanded  Hurley  again. 
"You've  been  telling  us  Dick  Beckworth  went  to 
Denver  to  deal  faro  at  a  gambling  house  there.  Now 
you  come  out  with  such  a  thing  as  this — mixing 

122 


Tolley's  Tale  123 

Nell's  name  up  in  some  blamed  lie  about  Dick's 
being  killed." 

"He  was  killed.  It  was  murder — or  mighty  close 
to  it.  And  that  gal " 

He  halted  again.  There  was  something  in  Joe 
Hurley's  eyes  that  stopped  him. 

"Suppose  you  start  this  thing  right,"  said  the 
mine  owner  more  quietly.  "I  understand  Dick 
Beck  worth  left  town  the  morning  old  Steve  and 
Andy  McCann  broke  out,  the  same  as  usual,  this 
spring?" 

"And  the  same  morning  that  gal  left  me  and  the 
Grub  Stake  flat,  and  went  kitin'  off,"  retorted  Tol- 
ley. 

"Well,  let's  hear  the  particulars." 

"I  didn't  know  Nell  had  gone  at  first."  He 
winced,  having  spoken  the  girl's  name  again,  be 
cause  of  the  darting  threat  from  Hurley's  brown 
eyes.  "When  Dick  told  me  he  was  off  I  didn't 
scarce  believe  him.  But  then  I  seen  him  and  that — • 
er — gal  riding  down  to  the  ford.  I  thought  they 
was  up  to  some  game.  Anyway,  I  thought  I  could 
talk  Dick  into  coming  back.  He  was  the  best  dealer 
I  ever  had." 

"Well?"  snapped  Hurley. 

"I  saddled  a  hoss  and  went  after  them.  They'd 
followed  the  wagon  track  to  the  top  of  the  cliff, 
But  I  thought  they'd  took  the  river  trail.  When  I 
got  a  piece  along  the  road,  I  heard  something  go 


124         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

bam — a  fall  of  rock,  or  something,  down  the  cliff. 
I  hurried  my  nag  and  come  around  a  turn  where  I 
could  see.  I  looked  up — never  thought  to  look  ahead 
along  the  edge  of  Runaway  River,  I  see  her — Nell — 
looking  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff t. 

"I  see  then  I  was  follering  the  wrong  lead/' 
pursued  Tolley.  "I  didn't  think  much  about  the 
slip  I'd  heard — not  then.  I  wanted  to  get  at  Dick. 
So  I  turned  back,  got  to  the  foot  of  the  wagon 
track  up  the  cliff  yonder,"  he  pointed,  "and  hurried 
after  them. 

"When  I  got  up  there  neither  of  'em  was  in  sight. 
I  hustled  along  the  road  and  went  clean  past  the 
fork  of  the  Hoskins'  trail.  Never  thought  of  either 
of  'em  going  to  that  dump,"  grumbled  Tolley. 

"Well,  I  give  it  up  after  a  while.  I  thought  I'd 
lost  too  much  time,  starting  out  wrong  at  first 
as  I  had.  They  was  too  fast  for  me.  So  I  rode 
back.  It  wasn't  till  then,  when  I  come  to  that  place 
I'd  seen  Nell  looking  over  from,  that  I  saw  how 
big  a  lump  had  broke  off  the  edge  of  the  Over 
hang." 

Hurley  sucked  in  his  breath  sharply.  "Go  on!" 
was  all  he  said. 

"I  looked  down  there.  I  seen  how  big  the  slide 
was.  And  I  seen  something  more.  There  was 
something  sticking  out  of  that  heap  of  stuff  on  the 
river  bank.  I  couldn't  be  sure,  but  I  thought  it  was 
the  hind  parts  of  a  hoss,  only  upside  down. 


Tolley's  Tale  125 

"I  pushed  my  boss  along  the  river  trail  again  and 
come  to  the  heap  of  stuff  that  had  come  down  the 
clifft.  It  hadn't  come  down  alone." 

Hunt,  listening  as  closely  as  Hurley,  had  no 
idea  how  his  friend  felt;  but  for  his  own  part  his 
flesh  crawled  at  the  inference  he  drew  from  Tol 
ley's  tale.  The  man  let  his  last  words  sink  into  their 
minds  for  fully  a  minute  before  he  went  on. 

"It  hit  me  right  where  I  lived.  Something  bad 
had  happened.  It  hadn't  happened  to  the  gal.  So 
I  figgered  it  must  be  Dick. 

"And  I  wasn't  mistook,"  continued  Tolley  with  a 
certain  satisfaction  in  his  tone.  "I'd  been  right 
when  I  thought  there  was  a  hoss  in  that  pile  of 
gravel.  There  was — but  not  much  of  it  stickin' 
out.  However,  I  clawed  down  to  the  saddle,  undid 
it,  and  hauled  it  out.  It  was  Dick's  all  right.  I  got 
it  now  stuck  into  the  bottom  of  my  big  safe." 

"But  where  was  Dick?"  demanded  Hurley. 

"How  should  /  know?"  retorted  the  other. 
"Maybe  under  the  heap — but  I  didn't  think  so.  I 
reckon  he  was  throwed  clean  into  the  river.  And 
you  know  what  the  current  of  Runaway  River  is !" 

Hurley  groaned. 

"Wait!"  said  Hunt  suddenly.  "The  man  you 
call  Dick  might  not  have  gone  over  the  cliff  with 
the  horse.  You  did  not  see  the  accident." 

"He  didn't  come  back  to  town.  And  he  wouldn't 
have  gone  on  afoot  to  Hoskins  or  any  place  else," 


126         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Tolley  said  surlily.  "Nobody  ain't  seen  him  around 
yere  from  that  day  to  this." 

"And  you  lied  about  Dick  and  kept  it  under  your 
hat  all  this  time?"  was  Hurley's  comment. 

"Well,  I  had  a  right,  didn't  I?"  blustered  Tolley. 

"Every  right  in  the  world."  The  mining  man 
spoke  evenly  now,  coldly.  "And  you've  got  a  bet 
ter  right  to  keep  the  story  to  yourself  right  along." 

"What  d'ye  mean?" 

"What  I  say.  Keep  your  mouth  shut  about  it. 
Don't  let  me  hear  of  you  opening  your  yawp  the 
way  you  did  just  now.  I  don't  half  believe  this 
yarn,  anyway.  You  couldn't  tell  all  the  truth  about 
anything,  Tolley.  The  truth  isn't  in  you.  But 
sometimes  a  half-truth  does  more  harm  than  a 
whole  lie.  You  stick  to  your  first  story  about  Dick 
the  Devil  going  to  Denver.  Understand?" 

"I  don't  understand  why  I  should  do  what  you 
say,  Hurley." 

The  latter  patted  the  butt  of  his  own  gun.  "No 
tice  that?"  he  said  with  a  deadly  fierceness  that 
shocked  Hunt.  "If  you  repeat  this  yarn,  I'll  come 
after  you.  And  if  I  come  after  you,  Tolley,  I'll  get 
you!" 

He  went  back  to  the  waiting  Bouncer  and  mounted 
into  the  saddle  without  another  word  or  a  glance 
at  Tolley.  But  Hunt,  his  nerves  strained  to  a 
tension  he  had  never  before  experienced,  watched 
the  owner  of  the  Grub  Stake  sharply.  Hurley's 


Tolley's  Tale  127 

disregard  of  the  fellow  amazed  the  man  from  the 
East.  He  did  not  realize  that  Tolley  was  so  un 
strung  that  he  could  not  have  hit  the  broad  side  of 
a  barn  if  he  had  drawn  his  gun.  But  Joe  Hurley 
knew  it. 

The  two  young  men  rode  on  to  the  door  of  the 
hotel,  both  silent.  Cholo  Sam  was  watching  Betty's 
pony.  The  girl  had  dismounted  and  gone  up  to  her 
room. 

"Joe,  what  is.going  to  be  the  end  of  this?"  asked 
Hunt  in  a  low  voice. 

"I   don't  know,   Willie." 

"Will  you  speak " 

"To  Nell?    Not  on  your  life!" 

"But  the  truth  will  come  out  some  time.  Who 
was  that  Dick?" 

Hurley  told  him.  He  went  further  and  told  of 
the  interest  the  cabaret  singer  had  shown  in  the 
gambler  for  some  time  previous  to  Dick's  disap 
pearance — before  Nell  had  gone  to  Hoskins  to  sing 
in  the  Tin  Can  Saloon. 

"It— it  looks  bad,"   faltered  Hunt. 

"Bad  is  no  name  for  it." 

"The  girl  should  be  questioned." 

"Not  by  me!"  cried  Hurley.  "I  don't  think  Tol 
ley  will  run  the  risk  of  speaking  to  her  about  it," 
he  added. 

"He  has  already,"  said  Hunt. 

He  explained  about  what  he  and  Betty  had  over- 


ia8         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

heard  pass  between  Nell  Blossom  and  the  owner 
of  the  Grub  Stake  the  evening  previous. 

"Great  saltpeter !"  gasped  Hurley.  "Then  that's 
why  Nell  cut  that  caper  just  now.  She  didn't  do 
it  just  for  deviltry.  She  "was  warning  Tolley  on 
her  own  hook." 

"Joe,  there  must  be  no  bloodshed  over  this.  If 
one  man  has  died,  that  is  enough,"  Hunt  said  sternly. 
"We  must  get  at  the  truth." 

"Not  me!"  cried  Hurley  again.  "I  wouldn't 
tackle  Nell  for  a  farm." 

"And — and  you  are  so  close  to  her — know  her  so 
well?"  murmured  Hunt. 

"That  ain't  no  never-mind,"  the  mining  man  said 
earnestly.  "That  girl's  got  teeth,  I  tell  you." 

"But  she  is  in  danger.    She  must  be  questioned." 

"Great  saltpeter!  You  wouldn't  get  nothing  out 
of  Nell  Blossom — nothing  that  she  didn't  want  to 
tell." 

"She  should  be  convinced  that  her  greater  danger 
lies  in  silence." 

"Convince  Nell?  What  did  I  tell  you,  Willie? 
You  couldn't  make  her  do  a  thing,  or  even  see  a 
thing,  that  she  did  not  want  to  do  or  see." 

"There  is  one  thing  I  can  do,"  said  Hunt  finally. 

"What's  that,   Willie?"   and   his  friend  sighed. 

"Find  me  a  pickax  and  shovel." 

"What's  that?" 

"A  pickax  and  a  shovel.     At  once." 


Tolley's  Tale  129 

"Great Say,  that's  a  new  one.     I  never 

thought  of  getting  an  idea  into  Nell  Blossom's  stub 
born  head  with  those  tools.  But  it  might  work  at 
that,"  and  Hurley  rode  off  to  get  the  instruments 
of  labor,  but  without  a  smile. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PLANS   ARE   MADE 

HURLEY  brought  back  with  him  two  shovels  in 
stead  of  one,  and  the  pick.  The  two  young  men 
took  a  roundabout  way  to  the  ford  so  that  Boss 
Tolley  might  not  spy  them  and  suspect  where  they 
were  going. 

They  did  not  talk  much.  Both  were  thinking 
too  deeply — were  much  too  disturbed  by  the  up- 
rearing  of  this  tragic  thing — for  idle  chatter.  Hunt 
wondered  how  his  friend  really  thought  of  Nell 
Blossom.  For  his  own  part  he  was  heavily  de 
pressed  by  this  thing  that  had  come  to  light. 

The  situation  threatened  serious  consequences  for 
the  cabaret  singer.  In  a  more  law-abiding  com 
munity  the  coronor's  office  would  have  summoned 
Nell  Blossom  for  examination  if  the  district  at 
torney  did  not.  And  in  any  case,  Hunt  believed, 
the  whole  miserable  business  must  come  at  last  to 
the  light  of  day. 

It  was  past  noon  when  Hunt  and  his  friend  ar 
rived  at  that  heap  of  dirt  and  debris  that  had  be 
fore  attracted  their  attention.  But  neither  of  them 
thought  of  the  hour  or  of  the  midday  meal. 

130 


Plans  Are  Made  131 

Hunt,  dismounting,  allowed  the  reins  to  trail 
upon  the  ground  before  his  horse's  nose  as  he  saw 
Hurley  did  with  Bouncer.  Both  animals  were  well 
trained.  He  removed  coat,  vest,  and  Tom  Hicks' 
broad-brimmed  hat  which  he  still  affected.  Rolling 
up  his  sleeves  he  seized  the  pick  and  went  at  the 
task  with  the  skill  as  well  as  the  strength  of  a 
trained  ditch-digger.  Hurley  admired  the  parson's 
ability  thus  displayed. 

"Some  boy,  you,  Willie.  I'll  tell  the  world  you 
know  something  besides  pounding  the  pulpit. 
Where's  that  shovel?" 

•   They  uncovered  the  dead  animal  and  threw  it 
into  the  swift,  deep  current  of  the  Runaway. 

They  did  not  cease  digging,  however,  until  every 
square  yard  of  the  fallen  soil  and  rubble  from  the 
top  of  the  cliff  had  been  combed  over.  They  cov 
ered  one  section  with  the  upturned  windrow  of  an 
other.  Nothing  which  had  fallen  with  that  fatal 
landslide  remained  unseen.  But  what  they  had 
feared  to  find  was  not  in  evidence. 

"Either  Tolley's  guess  was  right,  or  Dick  Beck- 
worth  never  came  down  that  wall  with  his  horse," 
Hurley  said  with  finality. 

Hunt  nodded,  finally  leaning  on  his  spade.  "At 
least,  we  have  satisfied  our  own  minds,"  he  said. 
"That  is  something." 

"And  mighty  little.  Dick  isn't  here.  I  bet  a 
thousand  he  didn't  go  to  Hoskins  with  Nell.  He 


132         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

wouldn't  have  walked  in  any  case.  Then,  where  the 
devil  is  he?" 

"That  is  not  the  main  question,"  rejoined  the 
parson  thoughtfully.  "The  principal  thing  is  to 
get  at  the  truth  about  this  accident.  What  hap 
pened  up  there  at  the  top  of  the  cliff  ?  Did  the  man 
come  down  with  the  horse  and  these  several  tons 
of  gravel  and  soil?  And  if  he  came  down,  what 
became  of  his  body?" 

"Great  saltpeter!"  Hurley  brought  out  his  un 
couth  ejaculation  with  a  new  emphasis.  "Do  you 
suppose  Tolley,  after  all,  knows  more  about  that 
than  Nell  does?" 

"What?"  Then  Hunt  understood.  "It  might 
be,"  he  said  slowly.  "Evidently  Tolley  was  not 
pleased  by  that  gambler's  leaving  him,  any  more  than 
he  was  pleased  by  Miss  Blossom's  leaving  him.  It 
might  be " 

"It  might  be,"  finished  Hurley  with  vigor,  "that 
Boss  Tolley  is  dragging  a  skunk  after  him  to  fool 
the  hounds." 

Hunt  admitted  the  truth  of  this  rather  homely  ex 
pression.  "All  the  more  reason  why  the  girl  must 
be  questioned,"  he  said. 

"You're  crazy,  Willie!"  cried  Hurley.  "You  will 
get  nothing  out  of  Nell — if  she  doesn't  want  to  talk. 
And  if  she  knows  anything  at  all  about  this,  and  is 
at  all  connected  with  the  matter  of  Dick's  disap- 


Plans  Are  Made  133 

pearance,  you  can  just  bet  she's  got  good  reason  for 
keeping  her  lips  closed." 

"For  her  own  sake,  she  should  confide  in  us — 
in  you,  at  least.  She  will  need  our  help  and  our  sup 
port  if  this  comes  out." 

"She's  got  mine,  whether  or  no,"  Hurley  said, 
slinging  on  his  belt  and  gun  again. 

Perhaps  Hunt  thought  he  spoke  significantly  as 
he  hitched  the  weapon  into  place.  He  wagged  a 
disagreeing  head. 

"That  sort  of  support  will  not  save  Nell  Blos 
som's  soul,"  he  observed  thoughtfully.  "To  blow 
off  Tolley's  head  will  not  help  her  one  iota  in 
cleansing  her  mind  and  heart  of  anguish  if  she  has 
guilty  knowledge  of  that  man's  death — if  he  is 
dead." 

"I  tell  you  that  Dick  the  Devil  was  well  named," 
cried  Hurley  furiously.  "Why  some  man  before 
this  had  not  beaten  him  to  death  is  a  mystery.  If 
Nell  shot  him  off  the  edge  of  that  cliff,  he  got  what 
was  coming  to  him,  and  no  more." 

"Oh!"  murmured  Hunt,  with  a  shudder.  "It 
might  not  be  that  she  has  such  a  terrible  sin  as  that 
on  her  conscience!" 

"I  don't  give  a  hang,"  returned  his  friend.  "If 
she  had,  there  ain't  twelve  men  in  Canyon  County 
that  would  convict  her  of  it.  Don't  tell  me!" 

"Oh,  Joe!  You  don't  see.  You  don't  under 
stand,"  urged  his  friend  sadly.  "What  matters 


134         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

man's  conviction  of  her  crime?     It  is  of  what  her 
own  heart  may  convict  her." 

"  T wouldn't  bother  me  none  if  I'd  sent  Dick  the 
Devil  over  that  cliff,"  declared  Hurley.  "But  I 
leave  it  to  you,  parson.  You  maybe  know  more 
about  such  things  than  I  do.  To  tell  the  truth,  you 
do.  Otherwise  I  wouldn't  have  had  any  hopes  of 
your  doing  any  good  in  Canyon  Pass.  Maybe  you 
know  more  about  womankind  than  I  do,  as  well," 
he  added,  a  bitter  smile  wreathing  his  lips  once 
more.  "I  wish  you  all  the  luck  in  the  world  when 
you  tackle  Nell  Blossom  on  this  topic.  But  I 
wouldn't  be  in  your  shoes  for  half  my  stock  in  the 
Great  Hope." 

Anxious  as  he  was  made  by  the  outbreak  of  this 
affair  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  did  not  for 
get  the  work  that  he  earnestly  hoped  to  begin  in 
Canyon  Pass.  Nor  did  he  delay  in  laying  plans  for 
the  efforts  he  hoped  would  aid  in  changing  the 
moral  tone  of  the  town. 

It  was  that  evening  in  the  Three  Star  Grocery 
where  he  went  with  Joe  Hurley  that  the  first  tenta 
tive  plan  was  discussed.  Jib  Collins,  who  seemed 
to  have  been  much  impressed  by  the  young  minister 
on  Sunday  afternoon,  was  there,  as  well  as  the 
old  storekeeper  himself.  With  them  several  of  the 
more  sober  citizens  joined  in  conversation. 

Hunt  struck  while  the  iron  was  hot.  The  first 
thing,  he  thought,  was  to  find  some  place  in  which 


Plans  Are  Made  135 

services  could  be  held  on  Sunday.  He  had  seen 
at  least  one  empty  store,  or  warehouse,  he  told  them, 
which  might  be  cleaned  out  and  put  into  fairly  de 
cent  shape.  He  had  looked  into  the  windows. 
There  was  a  dingy  sign  on  the  front  which  said  it 
was  for  sale. 

"Dad  burn  it,  parson!"  exclaimed  Judson,  "you 
must  mean  that  old  place  of  Tolley 's." 

"Tolley?"  repeated  Hunt  with  disappointment. 
"'Does  it  belong  to  that  man?" 

"Sure  does,"   said  Jib  Collins. 

"It  used  to  be  where  Tolley  had  his  honkytonk 
before  he  built  his  bigger  place.  He  owns  it,  of 
course,"  Hurley  remarked. 

"Then  I  presume  we  could  scarcely  count  on  get 
ting  it,"  said  Hunt  with  reflection.  "Tolley  is 
vigorously  opposed,  I  understand,  to  this  thing  we 
wish  to  do." 

"Hold  on,"  put  in  the  storekeeper.  "Let's  study 
on  it.  In  the  first  place,  you  all  keep  it  under  your 
hats,  and  maybe  I  can  do  something  with  Tolley." 

"You'll  do  a  fat  lot  with  him,"  prophesied  Col 
lins. 

"Mebbe  so.  We'll  see.  How  'bout  that  'wisdom 
of  sarpints'  the  Good  Book  speaks  of,  parson?" 
said  the  storekeeper.  "You  lemme  try  to  fix  it  with 
Tolley.  That's  all." 

"Oh,  we'll  leave  it  to  you,  old-timer,"  Hurley 


136         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

said  laughingly.  "Nobody  will  begrudge  you  that 
job," 

"If  we  get  that  place — or  some  other — we  must 
have  seats,"  Hunt  went  on.  "There  are  many  things 
to  think  of — and  many  things  to  get  together  be 
fore  next  Sunday.  A  week  is  none  too  long  to  pre 
pare  for  such  a  work." 

"And  a  pulpit/'  Collins  proposed.  "Me  and  Cale 
could  knock  up  a  pulpit — of  a  kind.  We  are  some 
carpenters — me  and  Cale.  If  I  can  get  him  to  help." 

Hunt  was  perfectly  willing  to  put  such  burdens 
as  he  might  upon  the  friendly  citizens  of  Canyon 
Pass.  In  fact,  that  is  just  what  he  wanted  them  to 
do — take  hold  of  the  new  idea  as  though  they  really 
supported  it.  The  discussion,  although  of  generali 
ties,  brought  forth  some  concrete  results. 

Judson  knew  that  Tolley  was  anxious  to  do  some 
thing  with  the  old  shack.  Judson  intimated  that  he 
expected  to  need  more  room  for  goods.  He  did  not 
say  exactly  when  he  would  need  it ;  but  he  got  Tolley 
down  to  an  agreement,  and  they  made  a  bargain. 
The  storekeeper  paid  a  nominal  rent  for  the  shack 
six  months  in  advance,  agreeing  to  make  such  re 
pairs  as  the  place  might  need  himself. 

The  business  was  kept  secret,  although  Collins 
and  Cale  Mack  went  to  work  on  their  part  of  the 
job  the  very  next  day.  Others  collected  seats  and 
a  few  other  furnishings.  Everything  was  of  the 


Plans  Are  Made  137 

plainest;  even  the  pulpit  was  built  of  unpainted 
boards.  But  Hunt  saw  that  the  place  was  clean. 

Judson  furnished  lamps  from  his  stock.  "We'll 
want  evening  meetings,  too,"  he  said.  "After  we 
get  to  going,  I  mean.  It  won't  be  a  bad  idea  to  com 
mence  running  a  show  that  will  compete  with  the 
Grub  Stake  and  Colorado  Brown's  and  those  other 
joints.  The  boys  drop  into  the  saloons  because 
there  ain't  another  derned  place  in  the  town  to  go 
to  after  dark." 

On  Wednesday  Hunt,  walking  toward  the  mines, 
confronted  unexpectedly  the  withered,  baldheaded 
man  he  had  carried  home  over  his  shoulder  on  Sun 
day  morning.  Sam  Tubbs  stopped  him. 

"I  reckon  you're  the  parson,  ain't  you?"  he  asked, 
cocking  his  head  in  a  birdlike  way  to  look  up  at 
Hunt.  "My  old  woman  is  right  smart  anxious  to 
see  you  again.  That  woman's  all  for  this  here  re 
ligion  they  say  you  are  going  to  deal  out  to  the 
boys.  Says  she's  got  something  for  you." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Tubbs.  I  will  go  around  and 
call  on  her." 

"Well,  you  can  if  you  like.  Miz  Tubbs  is  pretty 
nigh  big  enough  to  be  her  own  boss,  and  what  I 
say  don't  affect  her  no  more  than  as  though  I  shot 
my  mouth  off  in  the  middle  of  Topaz  Desert.  That's 
a  fact.  I  hear  you  are  a  pretty  decent  feller,  as 
parsons  go;  but  I  might  as  well  tell  you  right  now 
that  I  ain't — and  don't  ever  mean  to  be — a  convert." 


138         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"I  shall  like  you  none  the  less  for  that,  Mr. 
Tubbs,"  said  Hunt,  smiling  and  offering  his  hand. 
"A  man  must  always  decide  for  himself,  you  know. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  come  to  hear  me  preach ; 
but  you  need  not  believe  a  word  I  say  unless  your 
own  mind  tells  you  I  am  right." 

"Huh!"  grunted  Sam,  rather  staggered.  "That 
sounds  fair.  Mebbe  I  will  come  to  hear  you — 
sometime.  If  you  last  long  enough." 

This  opinion — that  the  parson  would  not  last  in 
his  attempt  to  uplift  Canyon  Pass — seemed  to  be 
the  view  of  the  general  run  of  Passonians. 

He  had  a  few  very  enthusiastic  coworkers,  how 
ever.  He  found  one  when  he  went  to  call  upon 
Mother  Tubbs. 

"It's  been  in  my  heart  for  many  a  long  day, 
Brother  Hunt,"  the  old  woman  said.  "This  here 
holding  meetings,  and  the  like.  I  said  a  long  time 
back  I'd  give  a  pretty  if  a  man  of  God  would  come 
in  here  and  shake  this  camp  like  a  snowslide  in  the 
mountains.  We  need  to  get  a  mighty  bump.  You- 
betcha! 

"Now  the  time's  come,  I'm  just  as  excited  as  a 
gal  going  to  her  first  dance.  I  can't  make  Sam  en 
thuse  none;  and  I'm  disappointed  in  Nell,  I  do  say. 
But  I  am  going  to  do  all  I  can  myself  to  boost  your 
job  for  you." 

"Thank  you,  Sister  Tubbs,"  said  the  young  par 
son.  "Is  Miss  Blossom  here?" 


Plans  Are  Made  139 

"She's  upstairs  a-dressin'.  But  I  don't  reckon 
she'll  give  you  much  but  the  rough  side  of  her 
tongue.  Lately,  Nell  seems  to  be  bewitched.  Think 
of  her  ridin'  her  pony  up  and  down  the  street  the 
other  day,  shootin'  and  cavortin'  like  a  drunken 
cow-puncher!  She  puts  on  these  didoes  jest  for 
devilment.  And  she  ain't  got  a  good  word  for  you 
and  your  plans,  Brother  Hunt." 

"Well,"  said  the  parson  calmly,  "perhaps  things 
will  change  with  her  in  time.  We  won't  worry." 

"I'm  glad  you  can  take  it  so  calm,"  said  Mother 
Tubbs,  sniffing.  "Now,  come  in  yere.  This  is  what 
I  got  for  you." 

She  led  the  way  into  the  inner  room,  half  bedroom 
and  half  sitting  room,  the  principal  room  in  the 
shack.  There  was  a  small  center  table.  On  it  was  a 
huge  tome  with  tarnished  brass  clasps — a  bulky  vol 
ume  that  had  evidently  seen  much  rough  usage. 
Mother  Tubbs  put  her  hand  upon  it  proudly. 

"See  that,  Brother  Hunt?"  she  said.  "It's  the 
old  Bible  out  of  the  Blue  Lick  Chapel  down  in  Ar 
kansas.  The  chapel  burned  down  when  I  was  a 
gal;  but  the  Bible  was  saved.  When  my  folks 
moved  out  thisaway  we  brung  it  with  us,  and  it's 
been  in  the  bottom  of  an  old  trunk  of  mine  for  forty 
year.  Now  it  comes  to  light."  She  opened  it  with 
care.  "I  reckon  you  got  all  the  Bibles  you  need  to 
work  with.  But  I  do  like  to  see  a  big  one  like  this 
on  the  pulpit  for  show." 


140         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"This  is  most  thoughtful  and  kind  of  you,  Sister 
Tubbs,"  declared  Hunt,  understanding  the  spirit  of 
pride  and  reverence  in  which  the  old  woman  had 
offered  the  book.  "I  shall  see  that  it  rests  on  our 
pulpit.'* 

At  that  moment  Nell  Blossom  came  into  the  room 
from  the  stairway.  She  nodded  to  him  bruskly,  but 
offered  him  no  welcoming  hand. 

"I  declare,  Nell,"  complained  the  old  woman, 
"you  ain't  going  out  without  a  word  to  the  parson, 
are  you?" 

"I've  no  particular  word  for  the  parson,"  re 
turned  the  girl,  a  glint  of  ice  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"If  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  Miss  Blossom," 
said  Hunt  quietly,  "I  have  a  particular  word  for 
you." 

She  stared  at  him  angrily.  He  picked  up  his  hat 
from  the  chair. 

"If  you  are  going  out,"  he  said,  "I  will  walk  along 
with  you  and  say  what  I  have  to  say." 

"Humph!  I  can't  stop  you  from  walking  up 
Mulligan  Lane.  It's  free,"  returned  the  girl  most 
ungraciously  and  walked  ahead  of  him  out  of  the 
house. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   GREAT   DAY   ARRIVES 

HUNT  caught  up  with  Nell  Blossom  when  she  had 
passed  through  the  gap  in  the  barrelstave  picket- 
fence,  and  his  length  of  stride  easily  kept  him  be 
side  the  girl.  Unless  Nell  broke  into  a  run  she 
could  scarcely  leave  the  parson  out  of  earshot. 

"Miss  Blossom,"  he  began,  "my  interference  in 
your  affairs  calls  for  no  excuse.  I  have  no  vulgar 
curiosity.  You  tell  me  to  mind  my  own  business. 
But  when  I  see  another  in  trouble  it  is  my  business 
to  offer  aid." 

"I  am  not  in  trouble,"  she  answered  sharply. 
Then,  with  scorn :  "And  if  I  was,  I  wouldn't  want 
a  parson's  help." 

"No.  But  a  friend's  help?  I  assure  you  I  am 
your  friend." 

She  now  looked  at  him  rather  curiously,  but  her 
expression  did  not  soften  in  the  least.  Doubt,  scorn, 
a  real  dislike  of  the  man  who  sought  to  gain  her 
confidence  struggled  to  gain  the  mastery  of  her 
pretty  features. 

"I  don't  know  you,  I've  only  seen  you  a  few  times. 

I  don't  make  friends  so  easy " 

141 


142         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"We  don't  make  friends  in  this  world,  Miss  Blos 
som.  We  win  them  whether  we  would  or  not. 
You  have  won  my  friendly  feeling  because  I  know 
that  you  are  troubled.  I  know  what  your  trouble 
is,  and  I  believe  I  can  help  you." 

His  downrightness  startled  Nell,  and  she  stopped 
and  stared  at  him. 

"You  can't  help  me  if  I  don't  want  your  help," 
she  cried  in  secret  panic. 

"I  cannot  help  you  so  much  if  you  deny  me  your 
confidence/'  he  admitted.  "But  I  stand  ready  to 
help  you." 

"You'd  better  sit  down,"  she  shot  at  him.  "You'll 
have  a  long  wait  standing  for  me  to  get  confidential 
with  you,  Mr.  Parson." 

"Consider,"  said  Hunt  seriously,  unshaken.  "We 
cannot  any  of  us  afford  to  refuse  an  honest  offer  of 
sympathy  and  assistance." 

"What  are  you  trying  to  do?"  she  asked  with 
suspicion.  "Trying  to  squeeze  something  out  of 
me?  You  parsons!" 

She  muttered  the  phrase  disdainfully.  He  put 
her  rudeness  aside  without  change  of  countenance. 
His  placidity,  his  assurance,  began  to  shake  Nell's 
confidence  in  herself  more  than  any  other  thing. 

"I  have  heard  something.  I  have  seen  something. 
I  know  that  if  you  will  listen  to  me — perhaps  ac 
cept  and  follow  some  advice  I  may  give  you — you 
will  be  benefited,"  he  said. 


The  Great  Day  Arrives  143 

"In  what  way,  I  should  like  to  know  ?"  she  asked 
jeeringly. 

"In  your  heart.     In  your  mind  and  conscience." 

"Well !"  She  was  silent  again  for  a  moment,  but 
her  face  did  not  change  in  its  expression.  "Well, 
you  can  talk,  I  reckon,"  and  she  moved  on  slowly 
again.  "There  ain't  any  law  against  talking  in 
Canyon  Pass — yet." 

"From  the  few  words  I  heard  that  man,  Tolley, 
say  to  you  on  Sunday  evening,  I  know  that  he 
threatened  you,"  Hunt  said  directly. 

"That  beast!" 

"He  thinks  he  has  knowledge  that  will  make  you 
trouble  if  spread  broadcast  in  the  town." 

"Let  him  dare!" 

Her  face  was  suddenly  that  of  a  young  and  beau 
tiful  fury.  Hunt  shook  his  head,  saying  softly: 

"Killing  him  would  not  remove  the  cause  of  your 
trouble,  Nell  Blossom." 

She  turned  on  him  again,  her  little  fists  clenched. 

"How  much  do  you  know?  Out  with  it!"  she 
commanded. 

"I  will  tell  you  what  Tolley  says." 

"So  you've  been  snooping  and  prying,  have  you?" 
she  queried,  her  rage  almost  suffocating  her. 

"I  will  tell  you  what  Tolley  says,"  repeated  Hunt. 
And  he  did  so  calmly,  dispassionately,  as  though  he 
were  relating  a  series  of  common  facts.  "That 
man's  horse  was  under  the  fall  from  the  cliff.  The 


144         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

man's  body  is  not  there — if  he  fell  with  the  horse." 
Nell  did  not  even  wince,  still  staring  into  his  eyes, 
her  own  as  hard  as  flint.  "Those  are  all  the  facts 
in  my  possession,  Miss  Blossom." 

She  remained  silent.  She  had  recovered  both 
her  regular  breathing  and  her  composed  manner. 
He  could  only  read  in  her  features  a  determination 
that  was  adamant. 

"Will  you  answer  a  few  questions?'5  he  ventured. 

"Out  with  them!" 

"What  caused  the  horse  to  fall?" 

"You  gump !  He  fell  because  the  bank  gave  way," 
she  replied  rudely. 

"What  became  of  his  rider?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Did  you  leave  him  at  that  spot?" 

She  waited  a  moment.  Then,  as  harshly  as  be 
fore  : 

"Yes." 

"You  have  not  seen  him  since?  Or  communicated 
with  him?" 

"Dick  Beckworth?     I  should  say  not!" 

"Do  you  know  what  became  of  him?" 

A  bitter,  sneering  smile  marred  her  lips.  "I  know 
what  Tolley  says — that  he's  in  Denver." 

"Tolley  proposes  to  deny  that  now,"  Hunt  said 
softly. 

"Let  him.  One  lie  is  as  good  as  another,  and 
Boss  Tolley's  full  of  them." 


The  Great  Day  Arrives  145 

"Will   you  help   me   discover   if   Beckworth   is 


"I  tell  you  once  for  all,  I  don't  want  anything 
more  to  do  with  Dick  the  Devil.  I  don't  want  to 
even  hear  about  him." 

"Then  you  and  he  quarreled?" 

The  mistake  was  fatal,  and  the  parson  knew  it 
the  instant  he  had  said  the  unwise  words.  But 
he  could  not  recall  them. 

"See  here,  Parson  Hunt!  you're  making  a  nui 
sance  of  yourself.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  no  ten 
derfoot  will  get  far  in  Canyon  Pass  if  he  begins  as 
you  have.  I've  got  nothing  to  tell  you.  I  won't 
talk  to  you.  I  don't  want  a  thing  to  do  with  you. 
Now  !  Am  I  plain  enough  ?" 

She  walked  on  stoutly,  her  head  up,  her  cheeks 
aflame.  For  a  few  yards  he  walked  quietly  beside 
her.  Then  he  lifted  his  hat  and  turned  aside.  When 
Nell  had  disappeared,  Hunt  sadly  shook  his  head. 

"I  fear,"  he  told  himself,  "that  I  have  made  a 
bad  beginning." 

Circumstances  that  followed  proved  that  his  sus 
picion  was  correct.  In  less  than  twenty-four  hours 
he  heard  that  without  a  doubt  he  had  made  another 
enemy. 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is,  parson,"  said  Bill  Jud- 
son  shaking  a  mournful  head,  "but  that  little  devil, 
Nell  Blossom,  is  on  the  warpath.  And  she's  after 
your  scalp." 


146         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"It  is  stuck  on  pretty  tightly,  Mr.  Judson,"  Hunt 
replied  with  a  smile. 

"  Tain't  no  laughing  matter.  Nell  has  a  terrible 
drag  with  the  boys.  If  she  don't  have  you  run  out 
of  town,  she  may  try  to  bust  up  your  show.  She 
says  you're  a  mischief-maker,  and  all  that.  She's 
plumb  down  on  parsons." 

"We  will  have  to  convince  her  that  the  tribe  is 
harmless." 

"Not  much  chance,"  said  Judson,  who  evidently 
shared  Hurley's  opinion  of  Nell's  obstinacy. 

"Time  will  cure  all  that,"  said  the  parson,  with 
more  apparent  confidence  than  he  really  felt. 

While  preparations  were  going  forward  for  the 
first  meeting  with  satisfactory  speed,  Hunt  heard 
on  every  hand  of  the  gathering  forces  of  opposi 
tion. 

Nell  Blossom  had  resurrected  the  old  song,  "This 
Is  No  Place  for  a  Minister's  Son,"  and  in  a  ridicu 
lous  clerical  make-up  sang  it  each  night  in  Colo 
rado  Brown's  place.  Passing  along  the  street  to 
his  hotel  Hunt  heard  the  chorus  roared  by  the  men 
who  applauded  the  cabaret  singer.  He  was  met 
with  more  jeering  laughter  wherever  he  went  than 
before;  and  he  realized  that  ridicule  would  do  the 
good  cause  more  harm  than  any  other  form  of  oppo 
sition. 

Joe  Hurley  was  very  busy  at  the  mine  that  week, 
and  he  had  not  much  to  say  to  his  friend  from  the 


The  Great  Day  Arrives  147 

East  when  they  met.  But  he  showed  curiosity  as 
to  what  had  befallen  Hunt  when  he  talked  with 
Nell  Blossom. 

"I  fear  I  began  wrong,"  admitted  the  parson. 

"I  reckon  however  you  began  you  wouldn't  get 
far  with  Nell,"  observed  Hurley.  "I'll  keep  my 
eye  on  Tolley.  He's  just  boiling  inside.  But  unless 
he  has  a  gang  behind  him  he  hasn't  any  more  spunk 
than  a  rabbit.  Nell's  too  popular — just  now,  espe 
cially — for  him  to  dare  spring  anything  against 
her.  And  she  certainly  is  making  herself  well- 
beloved  with  the  boys  from  the  Eureka  Washings 
and  the  other  mines,"  and  he  grinned  ruefully. 

"I  can  keep  most  of  my  own  roughnecks  in  line. 
I  reckon  they  kind  of  cotton  to  me,  and  they  know 
I  am  set  on  this  church  business.  But  Nell  certainly 
holds  the  camp  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand." 

"She  is  wrong;  but  she  does  not  realize  it,  per 
haps,"  considered  Hunt.  "And  yet,  maybe  she  does 
know." 

The  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  might  have  con 
sidered,  as  his  sister  believed  at  that  moment,  that 
the  outlook  for  successful  religious  work  in  Canyon 
Pass  was  quite  as  foggy  as  it  had  been  at  any  time 
at  Ditson  Corners.  Yet  the  opposition  that  had 
developed  here  was  nothing  more  than  Hunt  had 
expected.  And  it  was  open  hostility.  There  was 
nothing  hypocritical  about  it. 

He  had  met  Slickpenny  Norris  at  the  bank,  Hunt 


148         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

had  opened  an  account  there,  and  had  invited  the  old 
curmudgeon  to  take  some  interest  in  the  church  pro 
posal.  He  had  got  one  large  grunt  from  the  banker, 
and  that  was  all.  Norris  could  be  as  close-mouthed 
as  a  clam  when  it  might  be  to  his  disadvantage  to 
speak  his  mind.  But  he  offered  no  encouragement 
to  the  parson  by  that  grunt. 

Saturday  evening  came  and  those  who  were  most 
interested  in  the  uplift  of  Canyon  Pass  gathered  at 
the  old  Tolley  place  to  view  with  satisfaction  and 
no  little  pride  the  improvements  and  changes  brought 
about. 

"Jib,"  remarked  Judson  to  Collins,  having  de 
serted  the  Three  Star  Grocery  and  left  it  in  the 
care  of  the  gangling  Smithy  at  a  very  busy  hour 
to  "take  a  squint"  at  the  interior  of  the  meeting 
room,  "Jib,  you  and  Cale  Mack  have  certainly  done 
yourselves  proud  on  that  pulpit." 

"Don't  praise  me!  Don't  praise  me!"  exclaimed 
Collins.  "I  never  could  stand  flattery.  It  puffs 
me  all  up.  But  it's  a  pretty  nifty  bit  of  work,  I 
do  agree." 

"Yeppy,"  pursued  the  storekeeper.  "It  has  a 
slant  to  one  side  that  maybe  is  more  the  fault  of 
the  floor  than  your  spirit-level,  Jib.  And  it  looks 
sort  o'  wabbly.  But  barrin'  them  defects,  it's  what 
I'd  call  a  sightly  pulpit." 

"It's  strong  enough,"  grunted  Collins  gruffly,  now 


The  Great  Day  Arrives  149 

not  so  much  pleased.  "I  don't  reckon  the  parson 
is  going  to  take  a  maul  to  it,  is  he?" 

Mother  Tubbs  just  then  entered  the  door.  Be 
hind  her  staggered  Sam,  his  reeling  motion  for  once 
having  no  connection  with  an  alcoholic  cause.  Sam 
Tubbs  was  dead  sober — and  quite  as  positively  pro 
voked. 

"I  snun  to  man!"  he  croaked.  "Makin'  a  pack- 
hoss  of  a  man  thisaway!  If  that  danged  parson 
wanted  this  yere  Bible  he  ought've  come  and  toted 
it  himself." 

"It's  very  good  of  you  to  bring  it,  Mr.  Tubbs," 
said  Hunt,  smiling  and  coming  forward  to  relieve 
the  old  man  of  his  burden. 

Hunt  placed  the  big  Bible  on  the  pulpit.  One  of 
the  interested  housewives  had  sent  a  rather  hand 
some  linen  table-scarf  for  a  pulpit  cloth,  and  al 
though  it  was  somewhat  yellowed  from  disuse,  it 
made  the  unpainted  desk  seem  less  bare. 

They  drifted  in,  one  by  one  and  in  couples,  dur 
ing  the  evening,  these  people  deprived  so  long  of  the 
inspiration  of  worship  in  a  public  sense,  some  bring 
ing  hymn-books  of  various  sorts  and  a  few  Bibles. 
But  Hunt  had  not  come  to  Canyon  Pass  unprepared 
on  that  score  for  church  work.  He  had  brought 
with  him  from  the  East  fifty  hymn-books  of  the 
more  popular  kind  and  a  dozen  Bibles  for  the  use 
of  the  congregation  in  general.  When  these  had 


150         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

been  distributed  about  the  benches  they  made, 
Mother  Tubbs  declared,  "a  mighty  tasty  show." 

Betty  was  present  to  be  introduced  to  the  women 
of  the  camp.  Whatever  her  private  feelings  were, 
the  parson's  sister  could  be,  and  was  on  this  occa 
sion,  a  very  helpful  assistant  to  her  brother.  If 
the  Passonians  felt  a  little  awkward,  Betty  put 
them  quickly  at  their  ease.  She  made  a  most  for 
tunate  impression  on  them  all,  and  the  general  opin 
ion  was  "that  that  Eastern  gal  was  a  perfect  lady." 

Joe  Hurley  appeared  with  some  of  the  younger 
men.  They  were  all  scrubbed  till  their  faces  shone, 
shaved  to  a  nicety,  and  their  hair  "slicked"  and 
anointed  with  everything  Jose,  the  Mexican  bar 
ber,  had  on  his  shelves. 

"Umph!"  murmured  Mother  Tubbs,  wrinkling 
her  nose  appreciatively.  "Certainly  smells  proper 
good  since  them  fellers  come  in  yere.  I  never  did 
see  why  bay  rum  smells  so  much  better  than  drink- 
in'  rum.  And  bay  rum's  the  only  kind  of  liquor 
I  approve  of.  The  other  I  only  get  at  second-hand 
— on  Sam's  breath!" 

It  was  late  in  the  evening,  and  the  town  was  get 
ting  lively,  though  it  seemed  not  so  noisy  as  on  most 
pay-nights,  when  they  scattered  from  the  door  of 
the  meeting  room. 

Hunt  and  Betty  were  the  last  to  go.  He  latched 
the  door  behind  them,  but  there  was  no  thought  in 
his  mind  of  locking  it.  That  anybody  would  enter 


The  Great  Day  Arrives  151 

the  place  before  morning  did  not  cross  his  thought. 

But  later  in  the  night,  when  this  end  of  Main 
Street  was  deserted  and  the  frolicking  in  the  vari 
ous  amusement  places  was  continued  only  by  a  few 
irrepressibles,  a  figure  stole  out  of  the  alley  beside 
the  old  Tolley  building  and  slipped  into  the  room 
prepared  for  the  first  Sunday  service  in  Canyon 
Pass. 

Without  a  light  in  the  place  the  intruder  had 
some  difficulty  in  reaching  the  desk;  once  there, 
some  few  moments  elapsed  while  the  uninvited  vis 
itor  climbed  into  the  pulpit  and  opened  carefully  the 
big  Bible.  When  the  book  was  as  carefully  closed 
again,  without  the  white  book-marks  the  parson  had 
placed  in  it  having  been  disturbed,  the  obtrusive  one 
departed. 

Outside,  there  seemed  an  air  of  satisfaction  about 
the  very  way  this  unknown  individual  walked  away. 
In  addition,  a  very  determined — almost  viciously 
resolved-voice  observed : 

"There!  If  that  impudent  pulpit-pounder  don't 
get  his,  I  miss  my  guess!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

PEP   AND   A   LITTLE    PEPPER 

ALL  Sabbaths  were  not  fine  at  Canyon  Pass,  as 
Hunt  realized  on  opening  his  eyes  on  that  important 
morning.  From  the  same  open  window  through 
which  he  had  viewed  the  chaste  glories  of  the  Topaz 
Range  a  week  before,  he  now  saw  heavy,  thunder 
ous-looking  clouds  wrapping  the  peaks  and  surging 
down  into  the  lower  reaches  of  the  landscape,  blot 
ting  out,  as  they  moved  on,  each  monument  that  he 
had  learned  in  this  brief  time  of  his  sojourn  to 
know.  It  promised  no  fair  day  for  the  parson's  first 
service. 

This,  however,  was  not  the  basis  of  the  heaviness 
that  oppressed  him.  Hunt  admitted  the  cause  of 
his  heartsick  feeling  without  dodging  the  issue.  It 
was  Nell  Blossom  and  her  attitude  toward  him  per 
sonally  that  so  troubled  the  parson  of  Canyon  Pass. 
That  she  opposed  the  good  work  he  was  trying  to  in 
augurate  was  only  a  side  issue  in  Hunt's  mind. 
Opposition  in  general  merely  spurred  a  spirit  like 
his  to  greater  effort.  That  is,  a  frank  opposition. 

But  the  minister's  personal  interest  in  Nell 
Blossom  had  become  something  that  controlled  him. 
He  could  not  control  it. 

152 


Pep  and  a  Little  Pepper  153 

It  was  not  right,  he  told  himself,  to  do  any  poach 
ing  on  what  he  considered  Joe's  preserves.  Whether 
or  not  Nell  cared  for  the  mine  owner,  Hunt  believed 
he  would  be  disloyal  to  his  friend  if  he  showed  any 
thing  but  the  interest  of  a  minister  and  religious 
adviser  in  the  young  woman. 

Hunt  was  honest  enough  to  admit  that  such  feel 
ing  was  not  what  inspired  him  in  the  matter.  Nell 
Blossom  was  not  at  all  the  kind  of  girl  he  would 
have  deliberately  chosen  as  the  object  of  a  serious 
affection.  But  who  of  us  may  choose  when  love 
enters  the  lists? 

The  winsomeness  of  Nell  shone  through  the 
rough  and  prickly  husk  of  her.  He  realized  that  no 
man  could  see  in  all  its  clarity  the  girl's  soul.  He 
believed  that  the  untaught  mining-camp  child,  used 
as  she  was  to  the  rude  life  about  her  and  only  that 
life,  was  really  out  of  her  natural  element.  What 
ever  Henry  Blossom,  Nell's  dissolute  father,  may 
have  been,  the  girl's  mother  had  perhaps  given  her 
child  as  a  legacy  a  natural  refinement  scarcely  to  be 
looked  for  in  any  person  brought  up  in  so  unpol 
ished  a  community. 

In  short,  Nell  Blossom's  intrinsic  worth  was  no 
more  hidden  from  the  parson  than  her  physical 
beauty.  Her  hatred  of  and  disdain  for  all  men  had 
its  root  in  no  fault  she  had  committed.  Some  man, 
had  it  been  that  gambler  Hunt  had  heard  called 
"Dick  the  Devil?"  had  disillusioned  the  child-heart 


154         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

of  Nell  Blossom  and,  perhaps,  the  sweets  of  love 
had  turned  to  ashes  in  her  mouth. 

What  had  become  of  that  gambler?  What  was 
the  truth  about  that  tragedy  at  the  brink  of  the 
canyon  wall?  Did  Tolley  know  the  facts  and  mis 
state  them?  Or  was  Dick  Beckworth  really  dead 
and  his  body  swept  away  by  the  torrent  of  Runaway 
River? 

It  was  plain,  Hunt  decided,  that  Dick's  disappear 
ance  weighed  heavily  for  some  cause  on  Nell  Blos 
som's  mind.  Something  had  happened  on  that 
spring  morning  weeks  before  which  had  changed 
Nell  from  the  happy-go-lucky  girl  the  parson  knew 
she  must  have  been  to  this  bitter,  disdainful,  and 
apparently  wicked  woman  who  scoffed  at  religion 
in  any  form,  and  especially  had  "no  use  for  a  pul 
pit-pounder." 

In  a  week  he  had  become  imbued  with  such  an 
interest  in  Nell  that  she  was  the  subject  most  in 
his  thoughts  at  all  hours.  He  could  not  eradicate 
her  from  his  mind,  though  he  tried  hard  to  do  so. 

In  his  heart  he  scarcely  supposed  that  the  time 
would  ever  come  when  he  might  be  a  suitor  for 
Nell's  hand.  Joe  Hurley  stood  between  them.  But 
the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  was  old  enough 
and  wise  enough  to  know  that  whatever  came  to  him 
in  the  future,  as  long  as  he  retained  his  faculties,  Nell 
Blossom  would  occupy  a  niche  in  his  secret  heart  that 
no  other  interest  could  fill 


Pep  and  a  Little  Pepper  155 

Twice  at  night,  when  Betty  was  in  bed,  Hunt 
had  descended  into  the  lane  and,  standing  at  the 
back  of  Colorado  Brown's  place  near  an  open  win 
dow,  listened  to  Nell  sing  her  songs,  even  to  the 
caustic  one  with  which  she  closed  her  act  and  in  re 
sponse  to  which  the  crowd  wildly  roared  its  ap 
plause.  The  verses  about  the  minister's  son  "went 
big."  But  there  was  a  sweetness  and  power  in  her 
singing  voice  that  seemed  to  reveal  the  better  quali 
ties  of  the  girl  in  the  more  tender  ballads  she  sang; 
for  all  her  numbers  were  not  of  a  humorous  nature. 
She  could  bring  tears  as  well  as  smiles  to  the  faces 
of  her  audience  with  that  voice. 

Betty  came  tapping  at  his  door  while  Hunt  was 
still  in  his  robe.  When  she  saw  the  dark  business 
suit  laid  out  on  the  bed  she  frowned. 

"Ford !  I  did  hope  you  would  dress  properly  on 
this  day,"  she  said. 

"I  am  dressing  properly — for  Canyon  Pass,"  he 
returned,  smiling.  "I  am  not  inclined  to  attract  the 
hearty  laughter  and  scorn  of  such  members  of  the 
community  as  Boss  Tolley,  Tom  Hicks,  and  their 
ilk.  Clerical  garb  might  be  considered  by  them  as 
a  gratuitous  insult.  And  the  last  thing  I  wish  to  do 
here  is  to  antagonize  the  rougher  element." 

Although  Betty  failed  to  see  much  distinction  in 
the  roughness  of  the  community,  she  did  not  open 
that  avenue  of  discussion.  She  did  say  decisively: 

"Why  bother  about  those  awful  men,  Ford  ?    Tol- 


156         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

ley  and  his  crowd  will  never,  never  be  members  of 
your  congregation.  Maria,  Sam's  wife,  has  been 
giving  me  the  history  of  those  wicked  men.  She  is 
afraid  of  her  life  because  of  the  gang  that  hangs 
about  the  Grub  Stake.  That  is  a  terrible  institution, 
and  everybody  in  Tolley's  employ  is  bad." 

"And  yet,  Miss  Rosabell  Pickett,  who  plays  the 
piano  for  Tolley,  is  going  to  have  her  own  piano 
trucked  over  to  the  meeting  room  this  morning  and 
will  play  the  hymns  herself  for  us.  So  some  good 
must  be  found  at  the  Grub  Stake,"  Hunt  rejoined, 
still  smiling.  "Besides,  if  they  are  bad  men,  I  hope 
to  help  them." 

Cholo  Sam  was  closing  the  door  of  his  bar  and 
locking  it  when,  later,  Hunt  and  his  sister  came 
down  from  their  rooms.  Maria,  with  a  jetted  jacket, 
yellow  petticoat  and  reboza,  was  waiting  for  her 
husband. 

"Sefior  Hunt,"  said  the  innkeeper,  flashing  his 
white  teeth  as  usual,  "we  honor  ourselfs  to  attend 
your  service,  if  we  may?  Si?" 

"I'll  be  glad  to  see  you  and  Maria  there,  Sam." 

Hunt  then  followed  Betty  out  of  the  hotel.  It 
had  rained  since  sunrise,  but  had  stopped  now.  They 
were  early  for  the  service.  The  street  was  almost 
deserted.  It  had  been  arranged  by  Hurley  that  the 
whistle  of  the  hoisting  engine  at  the  Great  Hope 
should  be  blown  at  a  quarter  to  eleven  and  again 


Pep  and  a  Little  Pepper  157 

at  five  minutes  of  the  hour.  There  was  no  other 
means  of  summoning  the  Passonians  to  worship. 

There  was  a  roar  of  voices  from  the  barroom  of 
the  Grub  Stake  as  the  parson  and  his  sister  passed. 
They  crossed  the  street  to  avoid  a  quagmire,  but 
the  sound  of  revelry  followed  them.  It  seemed  that 
all  the  other  saloons  and  stores  in  sight,  including 
the  Three  Star  Grocery,  were  somnolent. 

Bill  Judson  joined  them  as  they  passed  the  gro 
cery  store.  The  old  man  was  as  solemn  as  a  bishop 
and  as  uncomfortable  as  new  shoes,  tight  light 
trousers  of  an  ancient  fashion,  and  a  stiff-brimmed 
straw  hat  could  make  him. 

"Hello!  What's  the  matter  with  Tolley  now?" 
the  storekeeper  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

The  owner  of  the  Grub  Stake  had  come  tearing 
out  of  the  place,  seemingly  blinded  by  rage,  and 
dashed  along  the  street.  The  group  that  boiled 
out  of  the  Grub  Stake  after  him  did  not  follow,  but 
urged  him  on  with  jeering  laughter. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Betty,  startled. 

"Dunno,"  said  Judson,  quickening  his  stride. 
"But  the  feller's  up  to  something." 

They  were  in  sight  of  the  meeting  room  now. 
The  door  stood  open.  When  Tolley  reached  it 
he  plunged  in. 

Hunt  would  not  leave  Betty,  but  he  hurried  her 
on,  while  Judson  almost  ran  and  was  over  the 
threshold  before  them.  There  was  a  sudden  explo- 


158         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

sion  of  voices  inside,  Tolley's  tones  high  over  all. 

"Here's  that  derned  cheater  now !"  the  owner  of 
the  place  was  heard  to  shout  as  the  storekeeper  en 
tered.  "Bill  Judson !  you  think  you're  mighty  smart, 
but  you  can't  put  nothing  like  this  over  on  me." 

"What's  eatin'  on  you,  Tolley?"  was  Judson's 
cool  response. 

"The  boys  just  told  me  what  you  folks  was  aimin' 
to  use  this  dump  for.  I  didn't  hire  it  to  you  for 
no  church.  I  won't  have  it,  I  tell  you!  This  is 
my  shack." 

"And  I've  paid  rent  for  it  for  six  months.  What 
you  goin'  to  do  about  it?"  drawled  Judson. 

"I'll  show  you!  I  won't  let  no  ham-faced  old- 
timer  like  you  make  a  fool  of  me." 

Hunt  reached  the  door.  Betty  was  almost  afraid 
to  enter.  There  were  several  men  inside  and  two 
or  three  women.  Tolley  was  striding  toward  the 
pulpit,  swinging  his  arms  and  shouting  himself 
hoarse. 

"I'll  show  you!"  he  shouted.  "I  own  this  dump. 
I'll  throw  this  litter  into  the  street.  A  church  in  my 
shack?  Well,  I  reckon  not!" 

The  distant  whistle  at  the  Great  Hope  pealed  its 
first  signal  for  the  service.  Several  groups  of  Pas- 
sonians  were  visible  now,  converging  toward  the 
place  of  worship. 

"Better  cool  down,  Tolley,"  advised  Judson  again. 
"We  don't  aim  to  have  any  riot  yere.  This  used 


Pep  and  a  Little  Pepper  159 

to  be  your  honkytonk,  and  a  dirty  place  it  was. 
But  we  reckon  on  running  another  sort  of  business 
in  it,  and  you  can't  stop  us.  You're  trying  to  throw 
sand  in  the  gears  o'  progress,  as  the  feller  said." 

"I'll  show  you  what  I  can  do!"  shouted  Tolley, 
mounting  upon  the  pulpit  platform.  He  whirled 
about,  and  saw  Hunt  entering  the  room.  "Here's 
that  danged  preacher  now." 

"Mr.  Tolley,"  said  the  parson  clearly,  "the  wicked 
have  been  known  to  come  to  the  house  of  God  to 
scoff  and  have  remained  to  pray.  We  are  going  to 
hold  a  service  here  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  You 
are  invited  to  join  us.  But  if  you  remain,  I  must 
ask  you  to  be  quiet." 

"Why,  you  denied,  white-livered  tenderfoot!  I'll 
show  you " 

He  seized  upon  Mother  Tubbs'  big  Bible  and 
raised  it  as  though  he  would  fling  it  upon  the  ground. 
Betty  gasped.  Judson  started  forward.  But  Hunt's 
voice  rang  loudest  through  the  room. 

"Tolley!     Put  that  Book  down!" 

The  compelling  tone  made  the  divekeeper  pause. 
He  still  glared,  his  face  distorted  by  wrath;  but, 
as  Joe  Hurley  had  once  said,  the  fellow  after  all 
had  not  the  courage  of  a  rabbit.  He  really  ex 
pected  Hunt  to  follow  the  command  with  the  only 
show  of  authority  that  went  in  Canyon  Pass — the 
display  of  a  gun! 


160        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

But  the  parson  had  made  no  threatening  gesture. 
He  did  not  even  advance  down  the  room. 

"Dang  you !"  yelled  Tolley,  and  brought  the  Bible 
down  upon  the  pulpit  with  such  emphasis  that  the 
desk  rocked. 

The  following  instant  his  head  was  surrounded  by 
a  halo  of  fine  particles,  the  pungency  of  which  was 
apparent  to  the  surprised  spectators  almost  at  once. 
Tolley  received  the  blast  of  powdered  cayenne  full 
in  the  face  and  eyes ! 

He  gasped — choked — sneezed.  He  sneezed  again, 
a  most  vociferous  roar  of  sound,  quite  involuntary 
and  spasmodic.  The  pepper  that  had  been  sprin 
kled  between  the  leaves  of  the  big  book  had  in  one 
burst  pelted  Tolley  with  its  fine  grains,  filling  eyes, 
nose,  and  his  mouth,  for  that  had  been  open  to  emit 
another  angry  shout. 

But  now  he  only  shouted  for  help  between  sneezes. 
Tears  poured  down  his  face.  He  staggered  blindly 
down  from  the  pulpit  and  begged  for  the  open  air. 

Hunt  was  first  to  reach  the  tortured  man  and 
led  him  forth. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LOVE  AND  LONGING 

EVEN  Hunt  could  not  express  sympathy  for  the 
unhappy  Tolley.  But  he  did  not  join  in  Judson's 
laughter  or  the  chatter  of  the  others  in  the  meeting 
room.  Tolley  staggered  off  toward  the  Grub  Stake, 
swearing  between  the  huge  sneezes  which  racked  him 
like  successive  earthquake  shocks.  Hunt  returned 
inside  the  building. 

The  others  were  grouped  near  the  door,  and  there 
were  weeping  eyes  among  them.  For  the  moment 
the  atmosphere  in  the  vicinity  of  the  pulpit  was 
unbearable. 

Hunt  drew  forth  a  handkerchief,  tied  it  across 
his  nose  and  mouth,  and  advanced  to  the  desk.  The 
Bible  had  not  been  injured  by  Tolley's  rough  ac 
tion.  But  the  red  pepper  was  scattered  thickly  upon 
the  linen  pulpit  cloth.  He  wrapped  the  book  in 
this  cloth  and  carried  it  to  a  window  which  looked 
upon  the  narrow  lane  beside  the  building.  Hunt 
opened  this  window;  and,  leaning  over  the  low  sill, 
dropped  the  book  to  the  ground. 

He  closed  that  window  quickly;  but  he  opened 
others  to  ventilate  the  room.  The  damp  air  quickly 

161 


162         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

relieved  the  place  of  the  pungent  pepper.  The  par 
son  did  all  this  quietly.  He  made  no  comment  on 
the  incident. 

But  the  gathering  company  whispered  and  chat 
tered — the  women  angrily,  the  men  more  than  a  lit 
tle  inclined  to  be  amused. 

"Parson,"  said  Bill  Judson,  his  eyes  twinkling, 
"I  promised  Jib  Collins  last  night  that  I'd  warn 
you  to  go  easy  on  pounding  the  pulpit  because  it 
was  sort  o'  wabbly.  I  reckon  'twas  Tolley  I  ought 
t've  warned." 

Betty  explained  to  the  woman  who  furnished  the 
pulpit  cloth  why  it  was  not  in  evidence,  and  Mother 
Tubbs  when  she  arrived  had  to  be  told  why  the  pul 
pit  Bible  was  in  retirement.  But  there  was  time  for 
little  more  than  that,  as  the  second  whistle  blew, 
and  the  room  began  to  fill. 

At  least  an  audience  was  not  lacking  to  hear  Hunt 
preach  his  first  sermon  at  Canyon  Pass.  The  seats 
were  comfortably  filled.  Most  of  the  congregation 
were  cleanly  and  neatly  dressed ;  the  women  in  such 
finery  as  they  owned.  But  some  of  the  men,  the 
rougher  sort  and  evidently  present  out  of  curiosity 
only,  looked  just  as  they  did  on  week  days.  Smok 
ing,  however,  was  taboo. 

Rosabell  Pickett  and  her  piano,  a  small  upright  in 
strument  of  a  rather  uncertain  tone,  was  of  great 
assistance.  Without  her  help  the  strangely  awk- 


Love  and  Longing  163 

ward  congregation  could  scarcely  have  raised  a 
hymn. 

Hunt  made  no  comment  upon  the  inauguration 
of  the  new  regime  in  the  town.  He  conducted  the 
service  just  as  he  might  have  conducted  a  mission 
meeting  at  Ditson  Corners.  And  he  preached  as 
carefully  thought-out  a  discourse  as  was  his  wont, 
although  his  theme  was  simple.  He  held  their  re 
spectful  attention  and,  he  believed,  won  their  un 
divided  interest. 

After  the  close  of  the  service  the  Bible  was  res 
cued  by  two  of  the  women  and  cleansed  of  the 
pepper  which  had  been  so  plentifully  shaken  into  it. 
Mother  Tubbs  took  Hunt  aside. 

"I'm  plumb  ashamed,  parson!"  she  said  indig 
nantly.  'To  think  that  Nell  Blossom  done  such  a 
trick  on  you!" 

"Nell  Blossom?" 

"She  done  it,"  said  the  old  woman  with  convic 
tion.  "I  missed  my  box  o'  red  pepper  last  eve 
ning;  but  I  had  no  idee  what  that  flighty  gal  took 
it  for.  And  then  she  said  when  I  tried  to  get  her 
to  come  to  meetin'  this  mornin'  that  she  reckoned 
it  would  be  too  hot  up  yere  for  her,  and  said  for 
me  to  keep  out  o'  the  front  seats." 

"Ah!" 

"She  reckoned  you'd  get  to  thumping  the  Book 
in  the  middle  of  the  sermon,  maybe.  When  Boss 


164        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Tolley  hears  tell  how  it  come,  he  won't  love  Nell 
none  the  better,  I  reckon." 

The  peppering  of  the  pulpit  Bible  might  have 
made  the  whole  of  Canyon  Pass  roar  with  laughter 
and  have  brought  nothing  but  ridicule  on  the  par 
son  had  Hunt  been  the  actual  victim  of  Nell  Blos 
som's  impish  trick.  That  Boss  Tolley  chanced  to 
suffer  yielded  a  number  of  the  townspeople  much 
amusement.  But  it  afforded  others  an  opportunity 
to  show  stronger  approval  of  what  Hunt  and  his 
coworkers  were  trying  to  do. 

Then,  there  was  a  third  party.  It  was  chiefly 
made  up  of  Boss  Tolley's  friends.  Tolley  raved 
against  both  Hunt  and  Nell  Blossom,  and  his  satel 
lites  listened  and  agreed  with  him.  There  began 
to  be  whispered  about  Canyon  Pass  a  story  to  the 
effect  that  the  absent  Dick  Beckworth  would  never 
be  seen  by  mortal  eye  again,  that  he  had  left  town 
in  Nell  Blossom's  company,  and  that  the  cabaret 
singer,  if  anybody,  could  explain  how  Dick's  horse 
had  come  to  be  found  under  a  heap  of  fallen  gravel 
at  the  edge  of  Runaway  River. 

Joe  Hurley  did  not  chance  to  hear  these  whispers 
for  some  time.  In  truth,  during  the  weeks  imme 
diately  following  that  first  service  in  Tolley's  old 
shack,  the  owner  of  the  Great  Hope  had  found  his 
time  fully  occupied  by  two  interests.  The  mine  it 
self  was  one,  for  he  believed  he  was  close  upon  the 
unveiling  of  that  rich  vein  which  he  had  always  be- 


Love  and  Longing  165 

lieved  was  the  "mother  lode"  of  his  claim.  The 
second  interest  was  in  Betty  Hunt. 

Hurley  sought  the  society  of  the  Eastern  girl 
whenever  he  could  do  so.  Hunt,  who  was  busy  him 
self  in  several  ways — especially  in  getting  person 
ally  acquainted  with  the  people  in  their  homes  or 
where  they  worked — was  glad  Joe  could  devote  him 
self  to  Betty.  Otherwise  his  sister  might  have 
found  it  very  lonely  here  at  Canyon  Pass. 

The  girl  from  the  East  allowed  Hurley's  bet 
ter  qualities  to  impress  her  mind  more  and  more. 
In  her  company,  too,  the  young  man  tried  to  eradi 
cate  from  his  speech  the  vernacular  that  he  knew 
she  despised.  Yet  when  he  grew  interested  in  a 
subject  of  conversation,  or  was  excited,  it  was  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for  Hurley  to  revert 
to  the  vivid  expressions  of  the  cattle  trail  and  the 
camp. 

Of  course,  no  man  could  have  prepared  himself 
for  college  without  obtaining  a  foundation  of  book 
education  which  Betty  must  fully  approve.  Occa 
sionally  Hurley  revealed  a  flash  of  wit  or  a  literary 
appreciation  that  delighted  the  girl. 

These  weeks  of  association  bred  in  both  young 
people  a  confidence  and  admiration  for  each  other 
which  under  ordinary  conditions  might  have  fore 
told  the  growth  of  a  much  warmer  regard.  Hurley 
began  to  hope.  Yet  Betty  gave  him  no  such  en 
couragement  as  young  women  are  wont  to  offer  a 


1 66         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

man  in  whom  they  begin  to  feel  a  tender  interest. 

Midsummer  was  approaching,  and  the  dry,  rari- 
fied  air  of  Canyon  Pass  sometimes  seemed  a  blast 
from  an  open  furnace.  But  when  they  rode,  as  they 
often  did,  out  upon  the  heights — above  the  canyon, 
for  instance — there  was  always  a  cooler  and  more 
pleasantly  odorous  breeze. 

In  one  of  their  earlier  rides  the  two  had  jogged 
the  entire  length  of  the  canyon  on  the  east  bank  of 
Runaway  River,  and  even  a  little  way  into  the 
desert,  far  enough  to  mark  the  shallow  basin  where 
the  last  trickle  of  what  was  at  Canyon  Pass  a  bois 
terous  torrent  disappeared  in  the  alkali. 

But  Betty  did  not  admire  even  the  look  of  the 
desert  country.  There  was  something  horrible  to 
her  mind  in  the  appearance  of  the  dreary  waste. 
She  had  never  seen  the  Topaz  at  sunrise ! 

When  they  mounted  to  the  highlands  west  of  the 
camp,  as  they  did  on  this  present  day,  there  were  half 
a  dozen  trails  they  might  strike  into  a  country  which 
would  reveal  beautiful  as  well  as  rugged  prospects, 
and  to  these  Betty  could  grant  admiration.  She 
had  begun  very  soon  to  feel  the  splendors  of  nature 
which  were  so  different  here  from  those  of  her 
native  Berkshires. 

There  was  a  forest  that  always  intrigued  her. 
The  trail  led  them  down  cathedral  aisles  to  the  bank 
of  a  murmurous  stream.  To  this  they  journeyed 


Love  and  Longing  167 

to-day;  and,  when  within  sound  of  the  river,  Betty 
drew  her  mount  to  a  stand. 

"It  is  beautiful,  Mr.  Hurley,"  she  sighed.  "I 
do  not  wonder  that  you  so  love  this  out-of-door  life 
and  this  wilderness.  And  then  you  have  always  been 
used  to  it.  It  does  make  a  difference  where  one  is 
born." 

"You  said  it!"  returned  Hurley  emphatically. 
"I  pretty  near  stifle  when  I  get  into  a  city  and  have 
to  stay  a  spell.  When  I  get  back  to  this  I  feel  like 
a  boy  again."  He  smiled  reflectively.  "The  bard 
of  'Cactus  Center'  hits  off  my  feelings  to  a  fare- 
ye-well,"  and  he  proceeded  to  repeat  from  "The 
Forester's  Return:" 


'I'm  back  on  the  job  by  the  singing  river, 
Far  from  the  town  with  its  money-mad, 

Back  where  the  quaking  aspens  quiver— 
And  I'm  glad. 

There's  work  to  do  and  there's  work  in  plenty, 
And  it's  sleep  in  the  open  if  fate  so  wills ; 

But  no  man  is  more  than  one-and-twenty 
In  the  hills.' " 


"That  is  fine!"  Betty  cried  with  enthusiasm,  her 
eyes  sparkling  as  they  seldom  did.  "Why,  I  can 
almost  feel  that  way  myself,  sometimes." 

There  was  a  drop  in  her  tone  at  the  end.  She 
looked  away  and,  had  he  been  able  to  see  into  her 
eyes  then,  he  would  have  beheld  a  much  different 
expression  in  their  dimmed  depths. 


1 68         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"You'd  feel  like  it  always  if  you'd  just  let  your 
self,  Miss  Betty,"  Hurley  said,  with  sudden  warmth. 

She  smiled  a  little  doubtfully,  but  turned  toward 
him  again,  having  recovered  her  composure.  Joe's 
eyes  glowed  and  a  strange  pallor  rose  under  his  tan. 

"Just  think  of  living  out  here  all  your  days  and 
enjoying  every  moment  of  them!  It's  rough,  I 
know,  and  sort  of  untamed.  But  it's  a  good  life, 
Miss  Betty — a  wonderful  life!" 

"You — you  almost  convince  me,"  she  stammered, 
laughing  a  little  uncertainly,  yet  gazing  at  him  with 
a  dawning  light  in  her  eyes  that  Joe  had  not  seen 
there  before. 

It  emboldened  him;  it  inspired  him  to  speak  the 
words  that  were  boiling  under  the  surface  of  his 
calm.  He  was  a  forthright  fellow  at  best,  was  Joe 
Hurley,  and  he  was  very,  very  much  in  love  with 
Betty  Hunt 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A    BATTLE   IN"  A   GIRI/S    HEART 

"BETTY,  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  he  said, 
unconsciously  urging  Bouncer  nearer  to  the  girl's 
mount.  "These  weeks  you  have  been  here  at  Can 
yon  Pass  have  been  the  greatest  in  my  life." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  in  a  startled  way. 

"This  is  a  big  country,  it  is  true.  Big  things  are 
done  out  here — great  accomplishments  achieved — 
fortunes  won.  And  I  have  always  meant  to  do  my 
part  in  it — both  as  to  making  money  and  winning 
the  better  things  of  life  for  myself.  I  want  to  see 
things  that  are  already  started,  developed,  to  watch 
Canyon  Pass  grow — in  a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  ma 
terial  sense. 

"But  something  else  has  got  hold  of  me,  Betty. 
I  was  living  a  pretty  wild  life  before  you  and  Wil 
lie  came  out  here.  I  wrote  him  I  was.  I  kind  of 
gloried  in  being  a  roughneck,  I  reckon,"  he  added 
with  a  wry  smile.  "But  all  that's  changed  with  me 
now,  Betty — since  you  came." 

"Mr.  Hurley— Joe!"  gasped  the  girl. 

But  he  raised  his  hand  gently  in  protest.  The 
gesture  asked  her  to  wait — to  hear  him  through. 

169 


170         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"I've  got  another  object  in  life — another  reason 
for  working  and  striving.  I  reckon  a  man  never 
does  know  quite  what  he's  aimin'  to  do  until  he 
sets  a  mark  before  him  that  isn't  altogether  selfish. 
I  want  to  get  ahead  just  as  much  as  ever — more  so. 
But  I  want  to  accomplish  what  I'm  aimin'  at  for 
something  higher  than  just  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
the  Great  Hope  pay  big  and  know  that  folks  say 
Joe  Hurley  has  made  a  ten-strike!" 

"You — you  will  be  successful,  Joe,"  she  mur 
mured. 

"That's  up  to  you,  I  reckon,"  the  man  said  ab 
ruptly.  "I'm  aimin'  to  accomplish  all  this — winning 
a  fortune,  helping  to  put  Canyon  Pass  on  the  map, 
and  all — for  you,  Betty.  Just  for  you." 

"Mr.  Hurley!  Joe!  Don't!"  the  girl  suddenly 
exclaimed. 

Her  face  had  grown  rosy  when  she  began  to  un 
derstand  fully  what  he  was  coming  to,  and  then  it 
paled.  As  she  listened  to  his  final  outburst  the 
grieved  expression  that  contracted  her  lips  and 
dimmed  her  eyes  shocked  him.  Before  she  could 
speak  he  knew  what  answer  he  was  to  receive. 

"Don't  say  anything  more — please!"  she  begged. 
"It's  all  wrong.  I  never  thought  this — this  would 
happen.  Why,  I  thought  we  were  just  friends." 

"Betty !"  ejaculated  the  man  in  a  tone  that  wrung 
the  girl's  heart.  "Betty,  haven't  I  got  a  chance  with 
you?  I  know  I'm  not  worthy " 


A  Battle  in  a  GiiTs  Heart         171 

"Oh!  Oh!  Don't  put  it  that  way,  Joe,"  she 
pleaded.  "It  really  isn't  that !" 

"What's  the  matter  with  me  then?"  he  demanded. 
"Do  you  want  time  to  think  it  over?  Or — wait! 
Betty,  is — is  it  because  you  left  some  one  back 
East?" 

The  girl  was  silent.  She  turned  her  head  so  that 
he  might  not  see  her  face.  But  Hurley  waited.  She 
had  to  answer — and  the  halting  word  was  uttered 
as  though  it  were  wrenched  from  her. 

"Yes." 

Hurley  drew  in  his  breath  sharply,  and  then  he 
was  likewise  silent.  A  minute  dragged  by.  She 
stole  a  glance  at  him  at  last.  He  was  staring  stead 
ily  at  her  left  hand.  She  had  removed  her  glove, 
and  the  hand  rested  bare  upon  her  pony's  neck. 
Suddenly  her  face  flamed  again. 

"Oh!  I  do  not  wear  his — his  ring,"  she  said 
hoarsely.  "There — there  is  a  reason.  I " 

"I  am  not  prying  into  your  private  affairs,  Miss 
Betty,"  Hurley  said  quickly.  "Only — I  am  sorry 
I  did  not  know  before.  Willie  never  said  a  word 
to  warn  me." 

"He  does  not  know !"  ejaculated  the  girl.  "I — 
I  do  not  want  him  to  know." 

"He  won't  learn  it  from  me.  Don't  fear,"  said 
Hurley  rather  roughly. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hurley!  I  am  so — so  sorry,"  whis 
pered  the  girl. 


172         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

The  man,  with  drooping  shoulders  and  hanging 
head,  sat  his  horse,  a  statue  of  disappointment.  He 
did  not  move  or  look  at  her,  as  she  wheeled  her  own 
mount. 

"I — I  think  I  would  like  to  ride  back  alone,  Mr. 
Hurley.  You — you  won't  mind  ?  Afterward  I  hope 
we  may  be  quite  as  good  friends  as  heretofore.  I 
do  appreciate  your  friendship — Joe." 

Betty  could  not  easily  miss  the  way  back.  The 
trail  was  perfectly  plain.  She  rode  fast  at  first,  for 
with  all  her  sorrow  for  Joe  Hurley's  disappointment, 
she  could  not  bear  him  near  her  now. 

Because  she  had  no  thought  of  ever  considering 
him  other  than  a  friend,  the  girl,  who  was  after  all 
quite  inexperienced,  had  not  dreamed  Hurley  would 
come  to  regard  her  warmly.  She  could  not  under 
stand  how  it  had  happened.  It  seemed  unbelievable ! 

Love — romance;  a  lover — happiness;  these  things 
were  not  for  Betty  Hunt.  She  had  long  ago  told 
herself  this.  She  was  devoted  to  one  man  only,  her 
brother.  And  when  he  would  no  longer  need  her, 
if  that  time  ever  came,  she  expected  to  follow  a 
lonely  trail. 

It  was  not  merely  Joe  Hurley  that  she  could  not 
marry.  She  could  not  marry  any  man. 

She  came  out  of  the  majestic  forest  and  reached 
the  open  stretch  of  the  trail  from  Hoskins.  This 
she  followed  toward  the  wagon  track  which  edged 
the  brink  of  the  Overhang.  She  had  brought  her 


A  Battle  in  a  Girl's  Heart         173 

pony  to  a  quieter  pace  and  jogged  along,  deep  in 
her  unhappy  thoughts.  Suddenly,  turning  a  clump 
of  brush,  she  quite  involuntarily  drew  in  her  pony 
and  halted.  There  was  a  rider  on  the  trail  ahead 
of  her,  a  stranger. 

It  was  for  only  a  moment  that  Betty  saw  him. 
Horse  and  rider  were  plunging  down  a  steep  de 
clivity  beside  the  trail  into  a  thick  copse.  Had  he 
heard  her  pony  and  was  he  seeking  to  escape  ob 
servation?  The  girl  was  impressed  with  this  possi 
bility. 

She  rode  on  again,  but  very  cautiously.  She  held 
a  firm  grip  upon  her  pony's  rein.  Suppose  the 
stranger  should  suddenly  spur  his  horse  into  the 
trail  again  and  halt  her?  From  the  moment  her 
brother  had  decided  to  come  West,  and  she  knew 
she  must  attend  him,  Betty  had  been  fearful  of  just 
such  a  meeting  as  she  visualized  now. 

She  half  turned  her  mount,  tempted  to  fly  back 
toward  the  river  and  Joe.  There  was  something 
very  comforting  in  the  thought  of  Joe's  nearness. 
Perhaps,  if  she  waited  here,  he  would  overtake  her. 
At  least,  he  might  come  into  sight. 

Then  the  thought  entered  her  disturbed  mind  that 
possibly  Hurley  had  gone  home  another  way.  He 
knew  the  country  well.  He  might  not  follow  the 
only  trail  she  knew  by  which  to  reach  Canyon  Pass. 

With  this  to  spur  her,  the  girl  urged  her  mount 
forward.  No  use  in  waiting.  The  place  must  be 


174         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

passed.  She  could  see  no  movement  of  the  brush 
where  the  stranger  and  his  horse  had  disappeared. 
But  she  felt  that  he  was  there! 

Again  she  gathered  up  the  pony's  reins  and  held 
them  firmly.  She  gripped  her  whip,  too,  and  pre 
pared  for  a  dash.  But  she  continued  to  walk  her 
horse. 

She  was  on  the  qui  vive  for  a  quick  start.  Her 
e/es  searched  the  brush  in  the  little  ravine.  Sud 
denly  she  saw  something  that  was  not  vegetation. 

She  rode  on,  but  she  was  more  and  more  dis 
turbed  by  this  object  at  the  edge  of  the  brush.  Then, 
of  a  sudden,  she  realized  what  it  was.  It  was  the 
upper  part  of  a  man's  face.  The  hatbrim  covered 
all  his  hair  and  cut  off  much  of  his  forehead;  a 
branch  hid  all  below  the  point  of  his  nose. 

And  yet  this  patch  of  face  shocked  Betty.  It 
seemed  that  she  recognized  it!  Was  it — could  it 

The  blood  pounded  in  her  temples ;  her  eyes  were 
suffused.  At  that  moment  she  could  not  have 
spurred  her  pony  had  the  lurker  in  the  brush  sprung 
forth  into  her  path ! 

Then  he  moved.  She  gained  a  clear  glimpse  of 
his  entire  face  before  he  dodged  again  out  of  sight. 
His  hair  rolled  upon  the  collar  of  his  shirt  and  he 
wore  a  mustache,  but  no  beard.  Betty  felt  sudden 
relief. 


A  Battle  in  a  Girl's  Heart         175 

"It  is  never  Wilkenson — never!"  she  murmured. 
"Never  him]" 

She  knew  that  her  terror  had  been  born  in  her 
own  mind  rather  than  of  any  external  danger.  The 
man  was  nothing  to  her — no  one  she  had  ever  seen. 
She  rode  on  finally  with  a  sudden  access  of  cour 
age — a  feeling  that  often  comes  to  one  when  a  peril 
has  been  successfully  surmounted. 

Indeed  when,  a  little  later  and  in  sight  of  the 
broader  wagon-track,  she  heard  the  pattering  hoofs 
behind  her  she  was  not  startled.  At  first  she  thought 
it  was  Joe  Hurley.  Then  she  recognized  the  fact 
that  there  was  more  than  one  horse  coming.  Even 
at  that  she  felt  confidence. 

She  turned  to  look,  and  saw  three  roughly  dressed 
fellows  pounding  along  the  trail  on  tired  and  sweat 
ing  steeds.  One  of  the  men  had  an  authoritative 
air.  It  was  he  who  addressed  her,  sweeping  off  his 
hat  in  the  same  way  that  Joe  Hurley  was  wont  to 
offer  greeting. 

"I  say,  miss,"  said  the  man,  "have  you  seen  a 
feller  riding  this  yere  way — couldn't  be  long  ago? 
Mebbe  an  hour  ?" 

"What— what  man?"  she  hesitated.  "I  rode 
along  here  some  time  ago  with  Mr.  Joe  Hurley " 

"Shucks,  ma'am!  I  ain't  after  him,"  replied  the 
man.  "I  know  Joe  mighty  well.  And  if  you  are  a 
friend  of  his,  you  pass.  I'm  the  sheriff  of  Cactus 
County,  and  me  and  my  deputies  are  after  a  yaller 


176         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

hound  that  bam  foozled  some  honest  men  out  of 
their  hard  earnings.  He's  got  the  gold,  and  we  want 
both  him  and  it!  We  been  trailing  him  two  days." 

Betty  trembled  so  inwardly  that  she  could  say 
nothing ;  but  luckily  the  sheriff  did  not  consider  there 
was  anything  she  could  say. 

"If  you  and  Joe  Hurley  come  along  from  Canyon 
Pass,  you'd  have  seen  this  feller,  if  he'd  gone  that 
way.  And  I'm  mighty  sure  he  wouldn't  aim  for 
the  Pass.  I  reckon,  boys,  Lamberton  is  our  best 
bet.  Good-day  to  ye,  ma'am." 

He  removed  his  hat  again,  and  the  other  two  did 
the  same.  But  they  did  not  ride  south  at  the  fork 
of  the  trail  without  casting  back  more  than  one 
admiring  glance  at  the  trim  figure  and  quietly  beau 
tiful  face  of  Betty  Hunt. 

She  cantered  away  on  the  Canyon  Pass  trail.  She 
had  something  else  to  think  of  now.  By  keeping 
silent  had  she  aided  a  thief  to  escape  the  hands  of 
justice?  But,  then,  perhaps  she  had  saved  a  man's 
life  as  well! 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE  SHADOW  ON  BETTY'S  PATH 


IT  was  still  a  beautiful  summer  morning,  but  its 
charm  was  quite  lost  for  Betty  Hunt.  Her  appre 
ciation  of  the  beautiful  in  nature  was  submerged 
by  what  had  so  overwhelmed  her  heart  and  her 
thought. 

The  thing  which  had  been  so  long  hidden  in  her 
mind — that  secret  which  had  changed  Betty  so  des 
perately  at  the  end  of  her  schooldays — had  risen  to 
the  surface  again. 

But  she  had  not  gone  far  when  something  arose 
that  made  Betty  wish  she  had  not  left  Joe  Hurley 
beside  the  singing  river.  Her  staid  old  pony  began 
to  limp. 

She  was  a  good  rider,  but  she  had  not  the  first 
idea  what  to  do  when  a  horse  went  lame,  except  to 
get  down  and  relieve  the  poor  creature  of  her  weight. 
But  she  was  much  too  far  from  Canyon  Pass  to 
walk  and  lead  the  hobbling  pony. 

The  wise  old  cow  pony  made  much  of  the  afflic 
tion,  and  when  Betty  tried  to  urge  it  on  the  limping 
horse  was  a  pitiful  sight  indeed.  Betty  had  never 
been  taught  the  proper  way  to  pick  up  a  horse's  foot 

177 


178         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

to  examine  it  for  a  stone  in  the  frog;  but  the  pony 
lifted  the  crippled  member  in  such  a  way  that  the 
girl  managed  to  get  at  it.  The  stone  was  there,  a 
sharp-edged  flint  wedged  into  the  frog,  but  the  girl 
had  no  instrument  with  which  to  get  it  out. 

Fortuitous  circumstances  do  happen  elsewhere  be 
sides  in  bald  romance.  Unlooked-for  help  appeared 
in  this  moment  of  Betty's  need.  She  looked  up  to 
see  Nell  Blossom  on  her  cream-colored  pony  gallop 
ing  along  the  wagon  track,  coming  from  the  direc 
tion  of  Canyon  Pass.  The  cabaret  singer  glanced 
at  the  dismounted  girl,  nodded,  and  would  have  gone 
right  by,  but  she  chanced  to  see  the  pony  limp  on  a 
yard  or  two. 

"What's  the  matter  with  that  hoss?"  demanded 
Nell,  reining  in  her  own  pony  with  both  skill  and 
promptness. 

"Oh,  Miss  Blossom/'  cried  Betty,  "there's  a  stone 
in  his  foot,  and  I  can't  get  it  out." 

"Where's  your  side  partner?"  asked  Nell,  getting 
slowly  down.  "That  Joe  Hurley  oughtn't  to  let  you 
tenderfoots  out  of  his  sight.  Not  on  the  open 
trail." 

Betty  recognized  the  measure  of  scorn  in  this  re 
mark,  but  she  was  in  no  position  to  resent  it.  She 
said  as  casually  as  she  could : 

"Mr.  Hurley  stayed  behind  for  something.  He 
may  not  even  come  back  this  way.  I  really  do  not 
know  what  to  do  for  the  poor  creature." 


The  Shadow  on  Betty's  Path        179 

"MeanhV  Joe,  or  the  hoss?"  and  the  blue  eyes 
danced  suddenly  with  mischief. 

"The  poor  pony." 

"Get  the  stone  out,"  Nell  said,  picking  up  the 
pony's  foot. 

"It  is  wedged  in  tightly — that  stone." 

Nell  drew  from  the  pocket  of  her  abbreviated 
skirt  a  jackknife  that  would  have  delighted  the  heart 
of  any  boy.  With  an  implement  in  this  she  re 
moved  the  stone  in  a  twinkling. 

"There !"  Nell  said.  "Let  him  rest  here  a  minute, 
and  he'll  be  all  right.  The  old  four-flusher!  He 
isn't  hurt  a  mite,  but  he'd  like  to  have  you  think  so," 
and  she  slapped  the  pony  resoundingly. 

"I'm  awfully  much  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Blossom." 

"No  need  to  be.     And  no  need  to  call  me  'Miss.' ' 

"Oh— well— Nell,  if  you  like  it  better,"  Betty 
rejoined  with  a  most  disarming  smile.  "I  thank 
you." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Nell  in  her  brusque,  but 
not  altogether  unfriendly,  way.  "I  say,  Miss  Hunt !" 

Betty  interrupted  with:  "Betty,  if  you  please, 
Nell." 

"Oh!  All  right,"  the  singer  said,  the  more 
friendly  light  sparkling  in  her  eyes  again.  "What 
I  wanted  to  ask  you  is,  is  that  suit  you  got  on  really 
what  they  all  wear  in  the  East  ?" 

"Yes.  Since  nearly  every  one  rides  astride  now, 
the  habit  is  made  mannish." 


180         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Well,  I've  straddled  a  boss  ever  since  I  can 
remember,  but  I  never  seen  anything  but  a  skirt  and 
bloomers  or  a  divided  skirt  like  this  on  women  be 
fore.  But  I  must  say  them  things  you  wear  are 
plumb  fetching." 

Betty  was  amused.  But  she  had  reason  for  feel 
ing  kindly  toward  Nell  Blossom. 

"You  could  easily  cut  over  that  corduroy  skirt 
you  wear  into  a  pair  of  breeches  like  these,"  she 
suggested. 

"You  reckon  so?"  asked  Nell  with  eagerness. 
"I'd  like  that  a  pile.  But  I  don't  know " 

"I  could  show  you.  We  could  cut  a  pattern. 
Has  anybody  in  town  a  sewing  machine?" 

"Sure  thing.  Mother  Tubbs  has  got  one.  And  I 
can  run  up  a  seam  as  good  as  she  can." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  proposed  Betty  with  real  interest. 
"You  ride  back  to  the  hotel  with  me,  and  we'll  cut 
the  pattern  out  of  a  newspaper." 

Through  such  seemingly  unimportant  incidents  as 
this  the  trend  of  great  affairs  are  sometimes  changed. 
Had  Nell  ridden  on  she  might  have  seen  the  same 
fugitive  Betty  had  noticed  hiding  in  the  chaparral. 
But  Nell  was  easily  persuaded  to  attend  the  parson's 
sister  to  the  Wild  Rose. 

The  two  girls,  who  seemed  to  have  so  little  in 
common,  after  all  found  much,  besides  the  dress 
making  plans,  in  each  other  to  afford  them  inter 
est. 


The  Shadow  on  Betty's  Path        181 

It  was  Nell's  strangely  sweet  voice  that  pleased 
Betty  most.  Even  when  the  Western  girl  said  the 
rudest  things,  her  voice  caressed  one's  ear.  And 
Betty  began  to  realize  that  Nell's  "rudeness"  was 
born  of  frankness  and  a  certain  bashfulness.  Most 
bashful  people  are  abrupt,  at  times  quite  startling, 
in  speech.  In  another  place,  among  other  people, 
Nell  Blossom  would  have  betrayed  timidity  and  hesi 
tation.  But,  as  she  would  have  said,  she  would  not 
have  "got  far"  in  Canyon  Pass  by  yielding  to  any 
secret  shrinking  from  her  associates. 

"A  girl's  got  to  keep  her  own  end  up  in  a  place 
like  this.  They  all  root  for  me  and  clap  me  on  and 
off  the  stage.  But  I've  got  to  fight  my  own  battles," 
pursued  the  singer.  "Men  are  like  wolves,  Betty. 
The  pack  will  foller  a  leader  so  long  as  that  leader 
keeps  ahead.  When  the  leader  goes  plumb  lame 
and  falls  behind,  they  eat  him." 

"Oh!" 

"I'm  popular  with  the  boys.  They're  strong  for 
me  just  now.  But  'twouldn't  take  much  to  make  'em 
turn  on  me.  I  know  'em!"  she  concluded  grimly. 

She  knew  a  great  many  things,  it  was  evident, 
of  which  Betty  Hunt  was  ignorant.  When  the 
cabaret  singer  went  away  with  her  pattern  she  left 
Betty  much  to  ponder  about,  which  did  not  fun 
damentally  deal  with  Nell  Blossom's  problems. 

When  Nell  had  gone  a  grimmer  shadow  over 
came  Betty's  mind — a  shadow  that  had  lain  athwart 


182         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

her  path  since  that  bitter  season  just  preceding  the 
death  of  her  Aunt  Prudence  Mason  and  Betty's 
withdrawal  from  boarding  school. 

The  events  of  those  last  weeks  at  Grandhampton 
Hall  were  etched  so  deeply  upon  Betty's  memory 
that  they  could  not  be  effaced.  She  believed  that 
they  never  would  be. 

And  on  this  day  all  had  been  rubbed  raw  again 
by  Joe  Hurley's  outbreak.  If  he  had  only  not  spoken 
as  he  had!  If  things  had  only  gone  on  between 
Betty  and  him  as  they  had  been  going — calmly, 
quietly;  yes,  she  confessed  it  now,  really  pleasantly. 

She  had  come  to  think  of  the  mining  man's  atten 
tion  as  an  undoubted  aid  to  her  placid  life.  Her 
rides  with  him,  and  their  association  in  other  ways, 
their  conversations  on  various  subjects  had  been  of 
greater  moment  in  establishing  her  peace  of  mind 
than  Betty  had  realized. 

She  faced  that  fact — alone  in  her  own  room  now 
— with  fuller  appreciation  of  what  Joe  Hurley  had 
come  to  mean  to  her. 

She  was  an  utterly  honest  girl.  She  had  faced  a 
terrible  and  soul-racking  situation  before  and  come 
to  a  decision  which  she  had  held  to  through  all  the 
months  since  she  had  left  school. 

Just  what  did  Joe  Hurley  mean  to  Betty  Hunt  ? 

Her  first  half-fear  of  Joe,  a  real  dislike  of  his 
presumed  character,  had  melted  before  a  broader 
understanding  of  the  man  and  his  aims.  Joe  was 


The  Shadow  on  Betty's  Path        183 

her  brother's  friend  and  the  chief  supporter  of 
Hunt's  earnest  work  among  these  people.  First  of 
all  Betty  had  begun  to  like  Joe  because  he  so  gen 
erously  aided  the  parson. 

Her  appreciation  of  the  underlying  strata  of  Joe's 
character  had  grown  from  day  to  day  of  personal 
association  with  him.  He  was  a  man  who  would 
ultimately  achieve  big  things.  She  felt  this  to  be 
his  dominant  trait.  Yet  he  had  tenderness,  gen 
erosity,  wit,  and  a  measure  of  "book  learning"  of 
which  last  she  eagerly  approved. 

Under  ordinary  conditions — Betty  Hunt  admitted 
this  frankly  now — she  would  have  been  as  strongly 
attracted  by  Joe  Hurley,  once  she  had  got  over  her 
first  doubt  of  his  surface  qualities,  as  by  any  young 
man  she  had  ever  associated  with. 

She  did  not  question  her  own  judgment  in  Joe's 
case,  no  matter  how  far  wrong  the  unsophisticated 
school  girl  had  been  to  give  her  heart  into  the  keep 
ing  of  another  who  had  seemed  a  much  more  charm 
ing  man ! 

Andy  Wilkenson — sophisticated,  smiling,  tender, 
with  all  the  graces  of  person  and  intellect  that  any 
young  girl  could  wish — had  set  himself  to  win  Betty 
Hunt.  His  intentions  had  been  perfectly  honorable, 
in  the  sense  thus  used. 

Andy  had  urged  marriage — an  immediate,  if  se 
cret,  marriage — from  the  very  first.  And  there  was 
reason  for  secrecy.  Betty  wished  to  finish  her  course 


184         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

at  Grandhampton  Hall.  Aunt  Prudence  must  not 
know  of  this  great,  new  thing  that  had  come  into 
Betty's  life.  Even  Ford  must  not  be  told. 

For,  after  all,  the  girl  realized  that  she  was  very 
young — much  younger,  even,  it  seemed,  than  Andy 
Wilkenson.  Andy  was  so  much  more  sensible  than 
she! 

Betty  feared  she  could  not  keep  her  mind  suffi 
ciently  on  her  studies  to  stand  well  at  the  end  of 
the  semester  if  she  was  not  utterly  sure  of  Andy. 
Once  married  to  him,  of  course,  Andy  would  be  hers 
entirely!  No  other  woman  could  ever  mean  any 
thing  to  him  if  the  unsuspicious,  broken-down  old 
minister  in  a  neighboring  town  joined  them  in  holy 
bonds. 

Aunt  Prudence  would  forgive  her  when  it  was  all 
over  and  she  went  home  with  her  diploma  and  her 
marriage  certificate  in  her  trunk.  It  would  be  abso 
lutely  wicked  to  disturb  poor  Aunt  Prudence  by  a 
letter  either  announcing  the  engagement,  which  was 
for  a  very  brief  term,  or  her  marriage.  For  Betty's 
elderly  relative  was  ill — worse  than  either  Betty  or 
her  brother  dreamed  of  at  the  time. 

The  opportunities  Betty  had  to  be  with  Andy 
were  not  many.  The  rules  of  the  Hall  were  very 
strict.  Even  her  introduction  to  the  young  man 
from  the  West  had  been  clandestine.  Unknown  to 
Betty,  Wilkenson,  learning  all  he  could  about  certain 


The  Shadow  on  Betty's  Path        185 

girls  in  her  set  at  the  school,  had  selected  Betty  Hunt 
deliberately  as  his  mark. 

Betty's  school  fees  were  paid  by  an  old  aunt  who 
was  reputed  very  rich.  The  aunt  was  known  to  be 
devoted  to  her.  All  that  she  had  was  sure  to  be 
Betty's  when  Aunt  Prudence  died.  Wilkenson  had 
even  gone  so  far  as  to  learn  much  more  particu 
larly  about  the  state  of  Aunt  Prudence  Mason's 
health  than  Betty  herself  knew. 

One  item  only  escaped  Andy  Wilkenson's  cunning 
mind.  It  was  not  until  they  had  been  married  and 
Wilkenson  was  driving  Betty  back  to  the  Hall  by 
unfrequented  roads  late  in  the  afternoon  that  the 
small  but  appalling  oversight  on  his  part  broke  upon 
his  understanding. 

"You  know,  girlie,  I  haven't  got  much  money.  I 
came  East  yere" — how  Betty  had  loved  that  drawl 
then — "to  get  me  a  stake.  I  did  a  fool  thing  and 
threw  away — just  threw  away — my  bank  roll  out  in 
Crescent  City." 

"Oh,  money !"  replied  Betty  with  fine  scorn.  "You 
can  go  to  work  at  something,  Andy,  and  earn  more." 

"Ye-as,"  he  agreed  in  a  tone  that  might  have 
revealed  a  good  deal  to  a  more  sophisticated  person 
than  the  girl  who  had  so  recently  been  Betty  Hunt, 
"so  I  can.  But  I  may  not  make  any  good  connection 
before  you  get  out  of  that  school.  And  then  I'd 
like  us  to  go  back  West.  I'm  known  out  there.  A 


1 86         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

man  can  always  do  better  in  his  own  stamping- 
grounds." 

"Oh,  the  West  must  be  wonderful,"  murmured 
Betty,  with  clasped  hands. 

"Yep.  But  no  place  is  wonderful  unless  you've 
got  a  good  stake.  Now,  how  about  it,  Betty  ?  This 
old  aunt  of  yours  .is  pretty  well  fixed,  eh?" 

The  girl  was  startled.  "Wealthy?  I  think  so. 
Aunt  Prudence  has  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"She'll  keep  on  being  kind  to  you,  I  reckon?" 

"Of  course!  The  dear  soul.  You'll  just  love 
her,  Andy." 

"Maybe.  But  I  don't  think  I'll  risk  trying  her 
out.  Not  just  yet.  She's  pretty  sick,  anyway, 
isn't  she?" 

Betty  told  him  that  Aunt  Prudence  was  feeble. 
The  girl  did  not  know  at  that  time  how  serious 
the  woman's  malady  was.  Only  on  the  day  follow 
ing  did  the  telegram  come  recalling  her  to  Amberly ! 

"Anyway,"  Wilkenson  observed,  after  some 
thought,  "you're  her  heir,  Betty."  For  a  second  time 
the  girl  was  startled  by  his  speech.  She  began  to 
peer  at  him  now  in  the  dusk  in  a  puzzled  fashion. 

"What  I'm  aimin'  at,"  said  Wilkenson  quite 
calmly,  "is  that  we'd  better  keep  all  this  quiet  until 
Auntie  goes  over  the  divide.  No  use  stirring  up 
possible  objections.  She'll  leave  you  her  money, 
you  say.  We'll  take  that  money  and  go  back  West. 
I  know  a  place  I  can  buy  in  Crescent  City  that  will 


The  Shadow  on  Betty's  Path        187 

pay  big  returns.  I  will  let  the  pasteboards  alone, 
myself.  I  always  get  foolish  if  I  deal  'em  wild 
instead  of  for  the  house.  We'll  cut  a  swath  out 
there,  Betty,  that'll  make  'em  sit  up  and  take  notice. 
Sure  thing !" 

"Andy !  What  are  you  talking  about?"  asked  the 
incredulous  girl.  "Auntie's  money It's  all  in 
vested.  I  know  it  is.  It's  tied  up." 

"Shucks !  we  can  untie  it,"  and  Wilkenson  laughed. 
"No  banker's  knots  mean  much  to  me.  And  four 
or  five  per  cent,  interest  ain't  a  patch  on  what  I'll 
make  for  you  when  we  get  to  going." 

"But,  Andy,"  she  said  weakly,  "I  know  all  about 
Auntie's  will.  I  have  even  read  it.  She  made  it 
years  ago  when  Ford  and  I  were  little.  And  she 
is  a  woman  who  never  changes  her  mind.  Ford  has 
papa's  little  fortune.  Aunt  Prudence  gives  me  her 
property;  but  I  can  spend  only  the  income  from  it 
until  I  am  thirty." 

"What's  that?"  His  tone  made  her  jump. 
"Thirty?"  Then  he  thought.  "Well,  shucks, 
honey,"  he  drawled,  "you're  a  married  woman  now. 
That  makes  you  practically  of  age  in  this  State,  and 
the  courts " 

"It  makes  no  difference,  Andy.  The  will  is  made 
that  way  for  that  very  purpose,"  the  girl  said  frankly. 

"For  what  purpose?" 

"So  that — that  my  husband  cannot  touch  the  prin 
cipal.  Until  I  am  thirty  I  cannot  touch  it  myself." 


1 88         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

An  oath — a  foul,  blistering  expression — parted  the 
man's  lips.  In  the  deepening  gloom  of  the  evening 
she  could  see  his  face  change  to  a  mask  of  indignant 
disappointment.  She  did  not  shrink  from  him.  She 
did  not  plead  with  him.  In  that  dragging  minute, 
Andy  had  stopped  the  car  with  a  jerk,  Betty  under 
stood  everything  about  this  Westerner.  And  from 
that  instant  had  germinated  and  grown  all  the  hatred 
and  fear  of  the  West  and  its  people  that  Betty  Hunt 
had  betrayed  when  first  her  brother  had  suggested 
the  journey  to  Canyon  Pass. 

She  had  stepped  out  of  the  car.  She  had  torn 
in  small  pieces  the  paper  the  old  minister  had  given 
her.  She  had  drawn  from  her  finger  the  plain  band 
Wilkenson  had  placed  upon  it,  which  she  must  have 
hidden  in  any  case,  and  thrown  it  from  her  into 
the  bushes  beside  the  way. 

Then  Betty  Hunt  had  commanded  Andrew  Wil 
kenson  never  to  speak  to  her  again — never  to  try  to 
see,  write,  or  otherwise  communicate  with  her.  She 
walked  away  from  him.  She  heard  the  roar  of  the 
engine  after  a  moment  and  knew  he  turned  the  car 
and  drove  away. 

And  that  had  been  the  end  of  Betty's  romance. 
She  had  not  seen  the  Westerner  again. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  GOOD  DEAL  OF  A  MAN 

DURING  the  ensuing  weeks  the  cabaret  singer  went 
often  to  see  Betty  at  the  hotel.  They  even  rode  to 
gether,  for  Joe  Hurley  suddenly  became  so  busy  at 
the  Great  Hope  Mine  that  he  was  forced  to  excuse 
himself,  so  he  said,  from  accompanying  the  Eastern 
girl  on  those  pleasant  jaunts  which  both  had  so  en 
joyed. 

The  two  girls  actually  enjoyed  each  other's  soci 
ety  and  found  more  than  a  riding  habit  in  which  to 
feel  a  mutual  interest.  The  friendship  grew  out  of 
a  hunger  in  the  hearts  of  both  Nell  and  Betty. 

The  parson  did  not  make  a  third  in  their  rambles, 
nor  was  he  often  in  sight  when  Nell  called  on  Betty. 
The  latter  would  not  have  encouraged  any  intimacy 
between  the  mining-camp  girl  and  Hunt  under  any 
circumstances.  She  did  not  dream  that  her  brother 
felt  more  than  passing  interest  in  the  half -wild  Nell. 

The  latter  never  attended  the  services  held  in  Tol- 
ley's  old  dance  hall.  But  the  Passonians  in  general 
came  to  accept  the  religious  exercises  as  an  institu 
tion  and  supported  them  fairly  in  point  of  contribu 
tions  and  attendance.  There  was  yet,  however, 

189 


190         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

strong  opposition  to  the  parson  and  his  work.  Nor 
did  it  all  center  around  Boss  Tolley. 

Nell,  soon  after  the  beginning  of  her  acquaintance 
with  Betty,  stopped  singing  "This  Is  No  Place  for  a 
Minister's  Son"  and  took  up  no  other  ditty  aimed 
in  any  particular  at  the  Reverend  Willet  Ford  Hunt 
and  his  work. 

As  for  Hunt  himself,  he  went  forward,  accepting 
both  praise  and  blame  with  equal  equanimity.  But 
he  began  to  be  worried  secretly  about  Joe  Hurley. 

Hunt  supplemented  the  morning  preaching  with 
a  Sunday  school  in  the  afternoon  and  a  general 
service  in  the  evening,  at  which  he  usually  gave  a 
helpful  talk  on  more  secular  lines  than  his  morning 
sermon. 

Hunt  would  have  been  glad  to  have  had  more  and 
better  singing;  but  although  Rosabell  Pickett  did 
her  best,  the  song  service  was  far  from  satisfactory. 
The  parson  never  passed  Colorado  Brown's  place  in 
the  evening  and  heard  Nell's  sweet  voice  that  he  was 
not  covetous.  He  would  never  be  satisfied — but  he 
whispered  this  not  even  to  Betty — until  he  heard  that 
voice  leading  his  congregation  in  the  meeting  room. 

The  rougher  element  that  had  at  first  attended  the 
meetings  mainly  out  of  curiosity  soon  drifted  away. 

Hunt  was  not,  however,  above  carrying  his  work 
out  into  the  highways  and  byways  of  the  town.  If 
the  men  would  not  come  to  his  services,  he  carried  a 
measure  of  his  helpful  efforts  to  them.  He  did 


A  Good  Deal  of  a  Man  191 

more  than  visit  the  homes  of  Canyon  Pass.  He  went, 
especially  at  the  noon  hour,  to  where  the  men  were 
at  work. 

Hunt  never  made  himself  offensive.  He  did  not 
join  the  workmen  at  the  mines  or  washings  as  a 
parson,  but  as  another  man,  interested  in  their  labor 
and  in  themselves. 

Once  a  mule-drawn  ore  wagon  broke  down  on  the 
road  to  the  ore-crushers.  It  blocked  the  way  of 
other  teams.  The  parson  took  off  his  coat,  helped 
raise  the  wagon-body  so  the  axle  could  be  blocked, 
and  aided  in  getting  on  another  wheel  in  place  of  the 
broken  one. 

A  man  working  alone  in  a  ditch  some  distance 
from  the  Oreode  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  bring  a 
rock  down  and  get  caught  by  the  leg.  His  shouts 
for  help  were  first  heard  by  Hunt,  who  was  striding 
along  the  wagon  track.  Without  other  aid  the  par 
son  pried  up  the  rock  and  drew  the  man  out  from 
under  it.  Then  he  carried  the  fellow,  with  his 
lacerated  leg,  to  his  shack,  where  he  lived  with  his 
partner;  and  between  the  partner  and  Hunt  the  in 
jured  man  was  nursed  as  long  as  he  needed  attention 
at  all. 

This  incident  was  the  spark  that  started  the  idea 
of  the  hospital  for  Canyon  Pass  in  Hunt's  mind. 
He  began  to  talk  hospital  to  everybody,  even  to 
Slickpenny  Norris.  The  banker  threw  up  his  hands 
and  began  to  squeal  at  last. 


192        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"That's  just  it!  That's  just  it!"  he  cried.  "I 
knew  one  thing  would  lead  to  another  if  a  parson 
come  into  this  town.  I  told  that  crazy  Joe  Hurley 
so.  He  had  no  business  ever  to  have  brought  you 
here." 

"What  has  my  coming  to  Canyon  Pass  got  to  do 
with  it?"  Hunt  asked  mildly.  "The  need  of  a  hos 
pital — there  are  always  accidents  happening  at  the 
mines — was  here  long  before  I  came.  If  a  man  is 
hurt  badly  he  dies  before  help  can  get  here.  Doctor 
Peterby  is  no  surgeon — and  you  know,  Mr.  Norris, 
he  is  not  always  to  be  trusted.  This  towns  needs  a 
place  where  an  injured  man  can  get  surgical  treat 
ment  and  proper  nursing." 

"I  don't  see  why,"  muttered  Norris.  "We  were 
getting  along  quite  well  enough  before  you  butted 
in." 

Hurley,  however,  agreed  with  his  friend.  In  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  seemed  to  have  "fallen  from  grace" 
a  good  bit,  the  owner  of  the  Great  Hope  was  strong 
for  all  secular  improvement  of  the  town,  whatever 
may  have  been  his  private  emotions  regarding  the 
religion  that  Hunt  represented.  The  movement  for 
a  hospital  took  form  and  grew. 

It  was  not  these  things,  however,  that  endeared 
Hunt  to  the  hearts  of  the  rougher  element  of  Canyon 
Pass.  And  in  time — and  that  before  fall — some  of 
the  toughest  hard-rock  men  and  muckers  working  in 


A  Good  Deal  of  a  Man  193 

the  mines  and  at  the  Eureka  Washings  openly  praised 
the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt. 

Hunt  one  noon  had  given  the  men  who  gathered 
in  a  quiet  place  to  eat  their  lunches  a  little  talk  on 
first  aid  to  the  injured.  He  had  sent  to  Denver  for 
several  first-aid  kits  and  was  now  going  about  from 
mine  to  mine  explaining  the  more  important  uses  of 
the  articles  in  the  box. 

The  men  understood  the  helpfulness  of  this.  Neg 
lected  wounds  meant  blood-poisoning,  one  of  the 
most  painful  scourges  a  prospector  or  miner  work 
ing  far  beyond  the  reach  of  surgeon  and  hospital, 
can  have.  It  was  well  to  know,  too,  how  to  make 
a  proper  tourniquet,  and  how  to  lay  a  bandage  so 
that  it  would  hold  well. 

The  whistle  blew  and  the  great  engine  was  started. 
The  men  drifted  away  to  their  several  jobs.  There 
were  three  pipes  at  work  tearing  down  the  bank  on 
the  upper  bench  at  the  Eureka  Washings,  and  others 
below.  The  force  of  the  water  thrown  from  the 
nozzles  of  these  pipes  rocked  the  mighty  hydraulic 
"guns"  and  caused  the  men  astride  of  them  to  hold 
on  with  both  hands.  It  took  a  husky  fellow  to  guide 
that  stream  spouting  from  between  his  knees. 

Hunt  had  returned  the  kit  to  the  superintendent's 
office  and  climbed  to  the  upper  bench,  intending  to 
go  over  the  highland  to  the  Great  Hope  Mine,  which 
was  nearer  the  West  Fork  River.  Hi  Brownell, 
who  straddled  the  middle  gun  up  here,  risked  wav- 


194         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

ing  a  cordial  hand  at  the  parson  when  he  saw  the 
latter  departing.  The  noise  of  the  hurtling  streams 
drowned  Hi's  voice,  of  course. 

Just  as  Hunt  returned  a  smiling  salute  to  the 
young  fellow — one  in  whom  the  parson  was  deeply 
interested,  for  Hi  was  really  a  worth-while  boy — the 
accident  happened  that  was  fated  to  mark  this  day 
as  one  long  to  be  remembered  at  Canyon  Pass.  In 
cidentally  the  occasion,  more  than  any  other  one 
thing,  brought  about  the  establishment  of  the  new 
hospital. 

The  whine  and  splash  of  the  streams  of  water 
drowned  most  other  sounds.  But  of  a  sudden,  as 
Hunt  was  turning  his  back  on  the  scene,  he  heard  a 
sharp  crack — a  sound  that  would  have  penetrated  the 
thunderous  rumble  of  a  railroad  train. 

Hunt  wheeled.  He  saw  Hi  Brownell  thrown  high 
into  the  air  as  though  from  a  viciously  bucking 
broncho,  come  down  sprawling,  and  the  savage 
stream  from  his  pipe  strike  the  man  and  carry  him, 
as  though  he  were  a  leaf  on  a  torrent,  into  the  cavity 
in  the  bank,  against  which  the  nozzle  of  the  pipe 
was  aimed. 

The  flapping  limbs  and  struggling  torso  of  Brow 
nell  were  visible  for  a  moment  only ;  then  down  upon 
the  spot  roared  soil,  gravel,  and  larger  stones,  of 
which  the  bank's  strata  were  built. 

Unguided,  the  shooting  stream  from  the  gun 
swept  first  one  way  along  the  bench,  then  the  other. 


A  Good  Deal  of  a  Man  195 

It  corrugated  the  face  of  the  bank  deeply  for  yards 
in  either  direction.  For  a  moment  Hunt  saw  again 
the  struggling  body  of  the  injured  man  at  the  edge 
of  the  fallen  rubble.  Then  came  another  slide  to 
cover  it  completely! 

The  broken  hydraulic  gun  fell  over  on  its  side. 
The  parting  of  some  section  of  it  was  what  had 
thrown  Brownell  into  the  air  and  into  the  path  of 
its  stream. 

But  before  the  other  gunners  on  the  bench  who 
saw  Brownell's  accident  could  shut  off  their  streams, 
Hunt  had  acted.  Some  muckers  tried  to  run  in  to 
seize  Brownell  or  dig  him  out  from  under  the  gravel 
that  had  fallen,  but  the  stream  from  the  writhing 
pipe  swept  them  aside  like  chips.  Half  a  dozen  were 
rolling  in  the  mud  of  the  bench. 

Hunt  sprang  directly  for  the  seat  of  the  trouble. 
That  hose-pipe  had  to  be  controlled  before  a  thing 
could  be  done  to  help  the  buried  Brownell.  Precious 
moments  were  lost  signaling  to  the  engineer  below 
to  shut  off  power. 

Hunt  had  not  played  football  on^iis  college  team 
for  nothing.  He  made  an  extrerrrely  low  ' 'tackle," 
for  he  went  down  on  his  knees  and  then  slid  along 
through  the  mud  to  grapple  with  the  writhing  pipe 
that  had  broken  away  from  its  fastenings.  He  got 
hold  of  it  and  wrestled  with  it  for  a  few  seconds  as 
two  men  might  wrestle  on  the  mat.  When  the  other 
men  came  running  from  below  Hunt  had  conquered 


196         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

the  formidable  thing,  and  the  stream  was  shooting 
into  the  air,  where  all  the  harm  it  did  was  to  shower 
some  of  the  men  as  it  fell  back  to  earth. 

For  thirty  seconds  or  more  he  held  it  so,  until  the 
stream  was  shut  off  below.  The  others  ran  for  the 
pile  that  had  overwhelmed  Brownell.  They  dug 
into  it  with  their  bare  hands,  got  hold  of  one  leg, 
and  dragged  him  forth  like  a  wet  rag  out  of  a  pan 
of  dishwater ! 

He  was  alive;  nor  were  there  many  bones  broken. 
But  he  was  a  terrible  sight,  and  they  had  to  work 
over  him  for  some  minutes  before  he  breathed  again. 
Hunt  went  at  this  task,  too,  as  coolly  as  did  the 
superintendent.  That  first-aid  kit  came  in  very 
handily  at  this  juncture. 

The  men  stood  around  for  a  little  while  and 
watched  and  talked.  The  accident  had  come  near 
being  a  tragedy. 

"Believe  me/'  said  one  rough  fellow,  "that  parson 
is  a  good  deal  of  a  man.  I'm  for  him,  strong!" 

"You'd  even  go  to  church  for  him,  would  you, 
Jack?"  chuckled  his  mate. 

"Church?  I'd  go  to  a  hotter  place  than  that  for 
him!"  was  the  prompt  and  emphatic  reply, 


CHAPTER  XX 

MURDER  WILL  OUT 

JOE  HURLEY  had  lost  none  of  his  admiration  for 
his  college  friend  whom  he  had  encouraged  to  come 
West.  He  still  believed  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford 
Hunt  was  the  very  man  to  find  the  heart  of  Canyon 
Pass.  Nor  did  events  as  they  developed  disprove  his 
pre- judgment  of  the  result  of  Hunt's  coming. 

But  it  must  be  confessed  a  sour  note  had  come 
into  the  life  of  the  owner  of  the  Great  Hope.  He 
was  a  worker ;  he  was  energetic ;  he  never  under  any 
circumstances  neglected  business — not  even  when  he 
had  been  most  attentive  to  Betty  Hunt.  But  he  now 
had  little  joy  in  his  work  and  looked  for  recreation 
to  a  means  he  had  eschewed  for  the  most  part  since 
the  Easterners  had  arrived. 

Like  most  men  of  his  class  and  upbringing,  the 
ex-cow-puncher  found  satisfaction  for  a  certain  dar 
ing  trait  in  his  character  at  the  gambling  table.  The 
coarser  forms  of  pleasure  in  the  honkytonks  did  not 
attract  Joe  Hurley.  He  danced  occasionally  with 
the  better  class  of  girls;  he  never  drank  more  than 
he  thought  was  good  for  him — and  he  carried  his 
drink  well;  but  when  he  "sat  in"  at  a  game  of  stud 

197 


198         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

poker  or  went  up  against  the  wheel — roulette  was 
popular  with  the  Passonians — he  admitted  in  his 
saner  moments  that  he  "didn't  know  when  he  had 
enough."  The  wild  streak  in  the  fellow  showed 
through  the  veneer  of  repression  as  it  had  when  he 
was  in  college. 

Hunt  could  not  feel  as  lenient  now  toward  these 
escapades  as  he  once  had.  Not  alone  had  the  East 
erner's  outlook  on  life  become  more  serious ;  but 
after  five  years  Joe  Hurley,  he  thought,  should  have 
"grown  up."  He  was,  however,  too  wise  to  utter  a 
single  word  in  opposition  to  Joe's  renewed  course 
in  moral  retrogression.  He  took  Sam  Tubbs  to  task 
when  he  met  that  old  reprobate  staggering  home 
from  the  saloons  and  gave  him  a  tongue-lashing  that 
Sam  admitted  afterward  made  his  wife's  nagging 
seem  like  a  cradle  lullaby.  Hunt  faced  down  Slick- 
penny  Norris  on  the  open  street,  to  the  delight  of  the 
bystanders,  over  the  banker's  niggardliness  in  op 
posing  the  building  and  equipment  of  the  hospital. 
The  parson  had  been  known  to  seize  upon  two  well- 
grown  young  fellows  fighting  in  a  vacant  lot  to  the 
delight  of  their  fellows,  knock  their  heads  together 
resoundingly  and  send  each  home  "with  a  flea  in  his 
ear."  But  he  had  not  a  word  of  admonition  it 
seemed  for  Joe  Hurley. 

Yet  Hunt  was  troubled  about  his  friend.  He 
feared  Betty  knew  something  about  the  reason  for 
the  change  in  the  mine  owner.  But  here  again  he 


Murder  Will  Out  199 

was  silent.  He  knew  his  sister  well — too  well  to  try 
to  gain  her  confidence  on  any  matter  which  she  would 
not  give  gratuitously. 

Hunt  had  been  much  too  busy  at  the  time  when 
Hurley  began  to  withdraw  from  Betty's  companion 
ship  to  notice  the  gradual  drifting  apart  of  the  two. 
When  the  brother  awoke  to  the  fact  that  his  friend 
and  his  sister  seemed  to  be  mere  acquaintances  again, 
Betty  had  found  a  close  companion  in  Nell  Blos 
som. 

Under  certain  circumstances  this  latter  fact  might 
have  encouraged  Hunt  to  consider  his  own  influence 
with  Nell  as  increasing;  but  by  this  time  he  had 
gained  more  than  a  casual  acquaintance  with  the 
cabaret  singer's  character.  Joe  Hurley  had  not  writ 
ten  too  strongly  about  Nell's  stubbornness.  Hunt 
had  undertaken  in  several  ways  to  break  down  the 
wall  the  girl  had  raised  between  them.  She  fought 
him  off  with  all  the  vigor  of  a  wildcat  and  without 
much  more  politeness  than  one  of  those  felines  would 
have  shown. 

He  met  her  at  Mother  Tubbs — not  by  intention; 
but  he  was  rather  frequently  there  to  confer  with 
the  uncultured  but  very  sensible  old  woman.  Nell 
snubbed  him,  or  scorned  him,  or  was  downright  im 
pudent  to  him,  just  as  her  mood  chanced  to  be.  He 
had  to  warn  the  old  woman  to  pay  no  attention  to 
the  girl's  attitude  or  there  would  have  been  a  flare-up 
between  the  two.  And  Hunt  very  well  knew  that 


2OO         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

while  Nell  lived  with  Mother  Tubbs  she  was  pretty 
safe. 

He  heartily  approved,  too,  of  her  intimacy  with 
Betty.  He  could  not  gauge  the  influence  Betty  was 
having  on  the  self-willed  girl;  but  he  had  confidence 
in  his  sister,  and  he  knew  Nell  would  only  be  helped 
by  the  association  and  that  Betty  would  not  be  in 
jured. 

The  opposition  of  Boss  Tolley  and  his  gang  was 
the  last  thing  to  trouble  the  placidity  of  Parson 
Hunt's  soul.  They  snapped  and  barked,  but  had  as 
yet  come  to  no  close-quarters  since  Tolley's  adven 
ture  with  the  pepper-besprinkled  Bible.  That  tale 
had  convulsed  the  Passonians  with  mirth,  and  even 
when  weeks  later  it  was  retold,  it  brought  ready 
laughs  from  the  citizens. 

It  was  now  fall,  a  golden-and-red  autumn  that  en 
thralled  the  visitors  from  the  East  when  they  looked 
abroad  to  the  hills  of  a  morning.  Even  Betty  con 
fessed  that  the  glories  of  the  Berkshires  at  the  same 
season  were  surpassed  by  this  sight.  She  had  come 
now  to  appreciate  the  rude  and  bold  lines  of  the 
mountains  and  the  gaudy  color  schemes  of  frost-bit 
ten  shrubbery  intermixed  with  the  emerald  of  the 
Coniferce. 

The  early  brightening  of  the  face  of  nature  by 
these  autumnal  tints  foretold  for  the  natives  of  Can 
yon  Pass  an  early  winter.  To  make  this  assurance 
doubly  sure,  old  Steve  Siebert  and  Andy  McCann 


Murder  Will  Out  201 

came  wandering  back  to  the  Pass  weeks  ahead  of 
their  scheduled  time. 

It  was  a  fair  enough  day  when  the  two  old  pros 
pectors  came  in — McCann  in  the  morning  and 
Siebert  along  toward  night.  In  all  the  time  they 
had  been  absent,  after  getting  out  of  the  canyon 
itself,  they  had  not  been  in  sight  of  each  other.  One 
had  prospected  east  of  the  Runaway,  and  the  other 
west.  Their  activities  in  fact  had  been  at  least  a 
hundred  miles  apart.  But  both  had  seen  signs — 
unmistakable  signs — of  approaching  winter. 

They  met  as  usual  the  amused  inquiries  of  the 
Passonians  regarding  the  "ten-strike"  they  had  been 
expected  to  make.  Was  there  due  to  be  a  stampede 
for  the  scene  of  the  claims  they  had  staked  out? 
Had  they  brought  in  samples  of  the  "real  stuff" 
that  would  start  a  regular  Cripple  Creek  boom  some 
where  out  in  the  Topaz  ? 

The  two  old  men  grinned,  their  watery  eyes  blink 
ing,  and  "stood  the  gaff"  as  patiently  as  they  always 
did.  Why  did  they  spend  half  the  year  in  the  un 
godly  loneliness  of  the  desert  places,  and  in  the  end 
bring  nothing  back  with  them?  Not  even  an  addi 
tional  coating  of  tan,  for  their  leathery  faces  and 
hands  were  already  so  darkened  that  the  sun  and 
wind  had  no  effect  upon  them. 

"You  old  duffers  ain't  right  in  your  minds,"  said 
Judson  to  Andy  McCann.  "Just  as  loco  as  you  can 


2O2         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

be.  Ye  never  did  make  a  strike  and  ye  never 
will " 

"Lots  you  know  about  it,  Bill,"  grumbled  McCann, 
his  jaws  moving  stiffly. 

"Well,  you  never  did,  did  you?"  demanded  the 
storekeeper,  with  twinkling  eyes. 

"If  you  were  yere  twenty  years  ago " 

"You  know  derned  well  I  was,  Andy,"  put  in 
Judson.  "Reckon  I  was.  And  before." 

"You  recommember  the  flood  then?" 

"I  ain't  lost  my  mem'ry,"  muttered  Judson. 

"All  right.  Keep  that  in  yer  mind,"  said  Andy, 
shaking  his  head  in  senile  fashion.  "There  was  a 
discovery  made  that  year  that  you — nor  nobody  else 
in  Canyon  Pass — knowed  anything  about.  Talk 
about  the  mother  lode !  Well !" 

"Is  that  so?"  cried  the  storekeeper  eagerly.  "Then 
why  wasn't  it  worked?  I  knowed  you  and  Steve 
brought  in  samples  of  the  right  stuff;  but " 

"Steve,"  snarled  McCann,  his  whole  manner 
changing.  "That  derned  rat?  Him?  He  didn't 

have  no  more  to  do  with  findin'  that  vein Huh ! 

Huh!"  He  coughed,  fell  silent,  went  out  of  the 
store,  deaf  to  any  further  questions. 

It  was  Joe  Hurley,  standing  with  Hunt  on  Main 
Street,  who  was  first  to  welcome  Steve  Siebert  as 
he  came  along,  riding  his  lean  mare  and  towing  the 
burro  that  looked  as  though  it  might  have  been 
carved  rudely  out  of  desert  rock. 


Murder  Will  Out  203 

"Well,  old-timer,  I  certainly  am  glad  to  see  you," 
the  mining  man  said.  "What  luck?" 

"Oh,  so-so,"  croaked  the  prospector. 

"Ain't  going  to  tell  us  you  worked  all  summer 
just  to  get  free  air?"  and  Joe  chuckled. 

"Sumpin'  like  it,"  replied  Siebert,  and  grinned 
toothlessly. 

"You  do  beat  my  time!  Coin'  to  come  over  to 
the  Great  Hope?  There's  a  job  for  you." 

"Mighty  nice  of  you,  Joe.  I'll  come,"  said  the  old 
man,  nodding. 

"And  not  a  darn  thing  to  show  for  all  your  pickin' 
and  smellin'  about  the  Topaz  since  spring?" 

"Not  what  you'd  call  a  bonanza." 

"Youbetcha !"  ejaculated  Hurley.  He  turned  with 
a  grin  to  Hunt.  "Meet  Parson  Hunt,  Steve.  We've 
done  more  in  the  Pass  this  summer  than  you  have 
on  the  desert.  We've  got  us  a  real  parson,  and 
we're  aimin'  to  have  a  sure-enough  church." 

"That's  a  good  word,"  agreed  Steve  solemnly, 
leaning  to  shake  Hunt's  hand.  The  old  man's  palm 
was  as  dry  and  scaly  as  a  lizard's  back.  "There's 
a  heap  o'  folks  yere  that  need  religion.  I  understand 
that  derned  Andy  McCann's  got  back." 

The  gibe  was  obvious.  Joe  grinned  with  appre 
ciation. 

"Yep,"  he  said.  "And  he  hasn't  got  any  more  to 
show  for  his  summer's  work  than  you  have." 

"Him!"    snarled    Steve.     "Of    course   he   ain't. 


204         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

That  dumb-head  wouldn't  find  gold  in  the  mint. 
No,  sir!  Never  did  find  any " 

"I  thought  he  did  make  a  ten-strike  once,  but  that 
the  slide  twenty  years  ago  knocked  his  claim  into  a 
cocked-hat?" 

"What?  Him?  Does  he  say  so ?"  ejaculated  Sie- 
bert,  his  wrinkled,  tanned  countenance  flaming 
angrily. 

"I  heard  tell,"  and  Joe  chuckled. 

"He's  a  plumb  liar.  He  didn't  find  any  such  thing. 
If  there  was  any  such  discovery  made  in  them  days, 
it  was  me  that  done  it.  Youbetcha!  But  him  I 
Huh!  Anyway,  it's  all  buried  deeper  'n  the  Pit — 
take  it  from  me,"  and,  grumbling,  Steve  Siebert 
rode  on. 

"Believe  me,  Willie,"  said  Hurley,  "there's  a  case 
for  you.  Try  to  get  those  two  together." 

"These  two  old  men  are  enemies?"  asked  Hunt 
quietly. 

"That's  no  name  for  it.  They  hate  each  other 
as  only  two  fellers  can  who  once  were  the  closest 
friends.  Old  Steve  and  Andy  were  once  as  close 
as  twins.  But  they  tell  me  for  twenty  years  they 
have  been  snarling  at  and  back-biting  each  other 
something  scandalous.  If  you  want  to  introduce 
love  and  kindness  into  the  hearts  of  Canyon  Pass 
folks,  Willie,  just  give  those  two  old  ruffians  a 
whirl." 

He  laughed — not  the  kind  of  laugh  he  would  have 


Murder  Will  Out  205 

uttered  some  weeks  before.  There  was  a  sneering 
note  in  Joe  Hurley's  voice  now  when  he  spoke  of 
Hunt's  work  and  the  better  things  of  life.  The 
parson  noted  it  now  as  he  had  often  noticed  it  of 
late,  but  he  said  nothing  in  comment  at  this  time. 
He  merely  observed,  before  separating  from  Joe  to 
return  to  the  hotel  for  supper : 

"Drop  into  the  meeting  room  to-night,  Joe.  You 
haven't  shown  much  interest  in  the  Men's  Club  lately, 
and  the  work  should  have  your  approval.  Besides, 
there  are  certain  business  matters  that  must  be  dis 
cussed  at  once." 

"Well,"  said  Joe  gruffly. 

He  did  not  promise  to  attend.  He  did  not  at 
tend. 

"I  wonder  what  kept  Joe  away?"  Hunt  ventured 
to  Judson,  as  they,  the  last  of  the  company,  left  the 
meeting  room  and  the  parson  locked  the  door.  That 
was  never  left  unlocked  since  Nell  Blossom's  trick 
with  Mother  Tubbs'  Bible.  "I  expected  him  to-night 
to  give  us  his  views  on  that  matter." 

The  old  storekeeper  turned  to  him  and  grinned. 
"Joe's  mighty  busy,  I  reckon,"  he  said. 

"In  the  evening?" 

"This  evening,  youbetcha!" 

"In  just  what  way,  Judson?  What's  up  your 
sleeve?" 

"My  funnybone,"  chuckled  the  storekeeper.  "And 
I  have  to  laugh.  Just  about  once  in  so  often  Joe 


206         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

seems  to  lose  ev'ry  mite  of  sense  he  was  born  with. 
He  thinks  he  can  beat  the  man  that  got  the  first 
patent  out  on  stud  poker." 

"Ah !  I  know  Joe  used  to  like  cards.  When  he 

was  East.  But  now Is  it  as  bad  as  you  intimate, 

Judson?" 

"Some  worse,  I'm  free  to  say,"  declared  the  old 
man.  "Joe's  gone  up  against  Colorado  Brown's 
dealer,  Miguel,  several  times  lately.  They  get  up  a 
round  game  of  a  few  fellers — all  friends.  But 
Miguel  is  always  playin'  for  the  house.  He's  a  won 
der.  'Last  Card  Mike'  they  sometimes  call  him. 
He  seems  to  be  able  to  read  clean  through  the  backs 
of  any  pack  o'  cards  you  put  up  to  him.  He's  a 
wizard — no  mistake." 

"You  mean  that  Joe  is  losing  money  in  this 
game?"  asked  Hunt,  with  some  apprehension. 

"Me.,  I'd  just  as  soon  bet  on  flies  with  their  shoes 
stuck  in  molasses  as  to  play  stud.  Youbetcha !"  re 
turned  Judson,  with  a  chuckle. 

Hunt  separated  from  the  storekeeper  and  walked 
slowly  toward  the  Wild  Rose.  He  passed  Colorado's 
place;  then  he  turned  back.  It  is  a  matter  of  much 
moment  for  one  man  to  interfere  in  another's  pri 
vate  affairs,  and  no  one  realized  this  fact  better 
than  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt.  His  office 
could  not  excuse  any  unasked  advice  or  intervention 
in  Hurley's  chosen  course,  no  matter  how  much 
Hunt  desired  to  restrain  his  friend. 


Murder  Will  Out  207 

He  hesitated  again  when  he  faced  the  swinging 
doors.  There  was  not  much  noise  inside.  This 
was  not  a  Saturday  night  and  the  amusement  places 
along  Main  Street  were  not  crowded.  Most  of  the 
Passonians  who  wasted  their  money  in  the  several 
places  of  this  character  spent  it  all  and  spent  it 
quick.  The  mid-week  nights  were  lean  for  the  dive 
keepers. 

It  was  not  lack  of  courage  that  restrained  Mr. 
Hunt  from  preaching  a  general  revival  and  a  bitter 
war  against  the  cohorts  of  the  devil  in  this  town. 
Merely,  the  time  was  not  yet  ripe.  Sometimes  he 
feared  that  it  never  would  be  ripe.  Certainly  he 
had  not  yet  reached  the  heart  of  Canyon  Pass. 
Since  the  first  shack  had  been  built  here  at  the 
junction  of  the  two  forks,  the  enemy  had  been  in 
power;  and  it  was  now  well  entrenched. 

But  to-night  Hunt  was  impressed  by  the  feeling 
that  his  friend  needed  him.  Joe  was  slipping  away 
from  him.  For  some  unexplained  reason  the  very 
man  who  had  brought  him  here  to  the  Pass  and 
coaxed  the  idea  of  a  spiritual  uplift  of  the  place 
into  germination,  was  backsliding. 

The  parson  began  to  feel  that  he  could  not  stand 
by  and  see  this  thing  go  on.  He  pushed  through 
the  flaps  of  the  door.  He  had  seldom  entered  this, 
or  any  of  the  other  saloons,  in  the  evening. 

His  entrance  now,  however,  did  not  serve  to 
startle  any  of  the  habitues.  Brown  himself  came 


208         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

forward  to  shake  hands  with  the  parson.  Some  of 
the  players  at  the  green-covered  tables  nodded  to 
Hunt.  The  three-piece  orchestra  in  the  dance  hall 
at  the  back  was  droning  out  a  fox-trot.  Nell  was 
not  singing.  The  principal  interest  seemed  to  be 
about  a  corner  table  at  which  the  parson  saw  Joe 
Hurley  sitting. 

After  a  word  to  Brown  in  greeting,  the  parson 
walked  over  to  this  corner  table  and  joined  the  group 
standing  about  it.  Hurley  looked  up,  grinned,  and 
said: 

"Hullo,  Willie!     Want  me?" 

"I've  something  to  ask  you — by  and  by,  when  you 
are  done." 

"Looks  like  an  all-night  session,"  returned  Hurley, 
immediately  giving  his  attention  to  the  cards  again. 
"Mike,  here,  is  trying  to  skin  me  alive  and  the  sheep 
is  bleatin'.  Deal  'em,  Mike." 

Hunt  said  nothing  more;  but  he  remained.  By 
the  grim  set  of  Joe's  lips  and  the  silence  of  the  com 
pany  about  the  table,  he  knew  that  the  moment  was 
unpropitious  for  any  insistence  on  his  part  that  his 
friend  give  him  his  attention.  Yet  he  had  the  feel 
ing  that  something  was  going  to  happen,  that  his 
place  was  here  at  this  gambling  table  rather  than  at 
the  hotel  with  Betty. 

The  event  that  he  subconsciously  expected,  how 
ever,  came  from  outside.  There  was  a  sudden 
clamor  at  the  door,  the  flaps  swung  in  sharply,  and 


Murder  Will  Out  209 

several  men  entered.  Smithy,  Judson's  gangling 
young  clerk,  was  the  most  noticeable  member  of  the 
new  group.  He  had  a  cut  over  his  right  eye,  a  puff 
on  his  cheek-bone  that  could  have  been  made  by 
nothing  but  a  heavy  fist,  and  when  he  spoke  a  crim 
son  gap  in  his  upper  jaw  betrayed  the  absence  of  two 
teeth. 

"What's  happened  to  you,  Smithy?"  demanded 
Colorado  Brown,  coming  forward  quickly.  It  would 
not  be  to  the  benefit  of  the  house  to  have  the  gam 
blers  disturbed  at  this  moment.  "Somebody  punch 
you?" 

"I'll  thay  they  did !"  lisped  Smithy.  He  was  half 
sobbing,  but  he  was  mad  clear  through. 

"They  didn't  improve  your  looks  none,"  said 
Colorado. 

"Never  mind  muh  lookth,"  said  Smithy.  "I  want 
to  know  what  you  fellers  think  of  this?" 

"I  just  told  you.  Whoever  done  it  didn't  make 
you  any  handsomer,"  interposed  the  proprietor  of 
the  hall.  "Now,  if  you've  had  a  fight  outside,  don't 
bring  it  in  here.  We're  plumb  peaceable  here  to 
night,  we  are." 

"Wait  till  you  hear  what  the  kid's  got  to  say, 
Colorado,"  put  in  one  of  those  that  had  entered 
with  Smithy. 

"Spit  it  out!"  advised  the  proprietor. 

"I  want  to  know  what  Mr.  Joe  Hurley  thinks  of 


2io         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

this?''  Smithy  managed  to  make  plain.  "What  do 
you  think  they  are  saying  about  Nell  Blossom?" 

"Nell  Blossom?" 

Hurley's  voice  did  not  join  the  general  chorus 
which  repeated  the  cabaret  singer's  name.  But  he 
looked  up,  his  gaze  met  that  of  the  parson,  and  a 
lightning  glance  of  understanding  passed  between 
them. 

"What's  eatin'  on  you,  Smithy  ?"  demanded  Colo 
rado  Brown. 

"Up  in  Tolley's.  I  was  just  in  there.  I  heard 
Tolley  and  Tom  Hicks  and  some  others  of  his  gang 
talkin'.  I  couldn't  help  hearin'  what  was  said,  and 
when  I  went  for  'em  this — this  is  what  I  got." 

He  almost  choked  on  the  words.  Joe  Hurley  rose 
up  as  though  a  slow  spring  uncoiled  beneath  him. 

"What  did  they  say,  Smithy?"  he  asked,  and  the 
tone  of  his  voice  seemed  to  quell  all  other  sounds. 

"Why,  the  skunks!"  cried  Smithy,  "they  said  Nell 
Blossom  shot  Dick  the  Devil  last  spring  and  flung 
him  over  the  wall  of  the  canyon  into  Runaway 
River." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE    DRAMA    OF    A    LIE 

THE  tense  silence  that  followed  Smithy's  half- 
sobbing  speech  marked  the  poignancy  of  the  mo 
ment  and  the  utter  stupefaction  of  his  hearers.  To 
all  but  Joe  Hurley  and  Hunt  such  an  accusation  as 
this  aimed  at  Nell  Blossom  was  entirely  unlocked 
for.  If  the  crowd  understood  anything  at  all,  they 
understood  that  Boss  Tolley,  if  he  had  started  the 
scandal,  courted  annihilation ! 

Indeed  the  first  question  fired  at  Smithy  follow 
ing  his  statement  was : 

"Why  didn't  you  fill  'em  with  lead,  Smithy?" 

"I  didn't  have  no  gun,"  replied  the  grocery  clerk. 
"And  Torn  Hicks  downed  me  before  I  could  get  at 
Tolley." 

"Did  he  say  it,  Smithy?"  demanded  Colorado 
Brown. 

[  'Twas  him  says  he  knows  all  about  it.     Says 
that  Nell  killed  Dick  Beckworth." 

They  talked.  But  it  was  Joe  Hurley  who  acted. 
He  threw  down  the  hand  of  cards  he  held. 

"Mike,"  he  said  to  the  Mexican,  Miguel  Santos, 
"you  know  I  ain't  in  the  habit  of  betraying  cold 

211 


212         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

feet.  But  I  got  some  business  to  tend  to.  Colo 
rado,"  he  added  to  the  proprietor,  'Til  settle  when 
I  come  in  again.  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

With  the  quickness  of  a  cat  he  slipped  through  the 
crowd  about  the  table  and  Smithy  and  shot  for  the 
door.  But  the  parson  was  at  his  elbow  before  he 
could  get  through  the  portal. 

"You'd  better  keep  out  of  this,  Willie,"  Hurley 
said  between  his  teeth.  "There's  goin'  to  be  the 
devil  to  pay  in  a  minute." 

"It  is  as  much  my  business  as  it  is  yours,  Joe," 
said  Hunt,  in  step  with  his  long  stride  on  the  side 
walk  where  they  headed  toward  the  Grub  Stake. 
"And  we  must  do  something  before  those  fellows 
back  there  wake  up." 

"What?"  was  Joe's  startled  ejaculation. 

"That  stupid  Smithy  has  started  something.  Some 
of  those  fellows  will  be  out  after  us  in  a  minute,  and 
if  they  get  to  the  Grub  Stake  before  we  straighten 
things  out,  there  will  be  trouble." 

"Trouble?  Youbetcha  there'll  be  trouble!  And 
you'd  better  keep  out  of  it,  Willie." 

"I  mean  to  stop  it,"  said  Hunt  softly. 

But  Joe  Hurley  did  not  hear  him.  He  turned 
abruptly  and  burst  into  the  main  entrance  of  the 
Grub  Stake.  It  did  not  take  Joe  Hurley's  trained 
glance  to  see  that  something  had  happened  here. 
Hunt  sensed,  too,  that  if  there  had  already  been 
trouble,  more  of  the  same  kind  was  expected. 


The  Drama  of  a  Lie  213 

The  girl  who  usually  presided  at  the  door — the 
girl  who  parked  your  gun  if  you  wanted  to  play,  or 
your  spurs  if  you  wanted  to  dance  and  gave  you 
checks  in  return  for  them — had  got  out  of  the  way. 
Several  of  the  gaming  tables  were  empty.  There 
was  not  a  man  standing  in  front  of  the  bar,  and 
Boss  Tolley's  assistants  behind  the  "rosewood"  had 
"stepped  out." 

Hunt  knew  at  first  glance  that  some  of  the  tough 
est  men  in  the  camp  were  gathered  here — either 
about  the  remaining  tables  or  with  Boss  Tolley  at  the 
far  end  of  the  bar  by  the  door  of  his  tiny  office 
where  the  safes  stood.  That  office,  Joe  had  told 
the  parson,  was  an  arsenal.  There  was  a  bodyguard 
around  the  dive  keeper  of  at  least  six  men. 

Joe  Hurley  saw  that  all  this  group  was  armed. 
A  flash  of  the  several  men  at  the  gaming  tables  as 
sured  the  mining  man  that  they  might  be  neutral, 
save  perhaps  the  dealers  for  the  house.  But  he 
realized  that  Tolley's  gang  was  primed  for  mischief. 
It  was  a  wonder  that  Smithy,  the  poor  fool,  had  got 
out  of  the  place  alive ! 

Hunt  had  pushed  ahead  of  Joe  the  moment 
they  stepped  inside  the  door.  They  were  both  big 
men,  and  Joe's  advantage  of  height  could  not  hide 
the  parson's  bulk.  In  a  flash,  before  a  word  was 
spoken,  Joe  took  two  long  strides  sideways  and  got 
behind  the  first  table,  which  was  empty.  And  he, 
by  this  act,  left  Hunt  out  of  the  line  of  any  bullet 


214        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

aimed  by  the  gang  standing  at  the  end  of  the  bar  at 
himself. 

A  gun  had  not  yet  been  drawn,  however,  on  either 
side.  Nor  had  a  word  been  spoken  by  either  Tolley 
and  his  gang  or  by  the  two  men  who  had  entered  so 
suddenly.  Still,  not  a  man  in  the  barroom  missed 
the  significance  of  Joe  Hurley's  strategic  move. 

Sam  Tubbs,  withered  old  scarecrow  that  he  was, 
had  been  facing  the  door  at  a  near-by  table.  It 
was  evident  that  Steve  Siebert,  the  returned  desert 
rat,  had  been  treating  Tubbs  to  more  liquor  than 
was  good  for  him.  But  Sam  had  some  wit  left. 

Joe's  action  forecast  the  popping  of  guns — in 
stantly!  Sam  had  seen  too  many  such  brawls  to 
play  the  part  of  "innocent  bystander"  if  he  could 
help  it.  He  let  his  feet  slide  out  from  under  him, 
shot  down  in  the  chair  on  the  small  of  his  back,  and 
passed  out  of  sight  under  the  table  with  all  the 
celerity  of  an  imp  in  a  pantomime. 

Steve  Siebert,  however,  did  not  even  remove  his 
pipe  from  his  lips,  but  wheeled  in  his  chair  and 
glared  from  Joe  to  Tolley  and  his  bodyguard.  The 
old  man  swung  a  heavy,  old-style  six-gun  low  on  his 
hip.  But  he  did  not  touch  it — then. 

Joe's  attitude  was  as  wary  as  that  of  a  puma  about 
to  spring.  He  crouched.  By  one  quick  motion  he 
could  overturn  the  table,  drop  behind  it,  and  use  it 
as  a  bulwark.  But  he  must  move  quickly  enough 
to  escape,  perhaps,  seven  bullets  from  as  many  guns. 


The  Drama  of  a  Lie  215 

It  was  Joe  Hurley  who  first  spoke. 

"Tolley!"  he  said  fiercely  but  clearly,  "I  warned 
you  what  I'd  do  if  you  repeated  that  lie  about  the 
girl.  You  remember,  well  enough,  you  hound !  Stand 
out  from  those  bootlickers  of  yours  and  take  your 
medicine." 

The  challenge  got  no  response  from  Tolley  but 
a  grimace  like  that  of  a  wolf  in  a  trap.  He  did 
not  make  a  motion  to  draw  his  own  gun.  He  was 
too  wise  to  do  that  in  any  event,  for  he  knew  he  could 
not  beat  Joe  to  it !  And  then — what  did  he  subsidize 
these  gunmen  for  if  not  for  such  an  emergency  as 
this? 

"Open  your  trap,  you  hound!"  commanded  Joe. 
"If  you  won't  fight,  speak!" 

"Wait  a  moment." 

The  parson  had  actually  not  halted  at  all  when 
he  entered  with  Joe  Hurley.  He  had  merely  slowed 
up.  He  was  approaching  Tolley  and  his  men  down 
the  long  length  of  the  bar.  But  when  he  spoke  Tom 
Hicks  half  drew  his  gun. 

"Mr.  Tolley,"  Hunt  said  in  the  same  clear  but 
quiet  voice,  "will  undoubtedly  explain  and  apologize 
for  what  we  understand  he  has  said  about  the  young 
woman  in  question.  Come  now,  Mr.  Tolley!  you 
are  ready  to  take  back  your  words,  aren't  you  ?  You 
have  no  more  proof,  have  you,  of  your — er — mis- 
statement  than  you  had  several  weeks  ago  when  you 


216         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 


discussed  the  affair  with  Mr.  Hurley  in  my  hear- 
ing?" 

"What  are  you  butting  in  for?"  returned  Tolley 
with  a  threatening  growl. 

"For  the  sake  of  peace,  Mr.  Tolley,'*  explained 
the  parson  determinedly. 

"Get  back,  Willie!"  Joe  ordered  from  the  back 
ground. 

He  dared  not  draw  his  gun,  for  if  he  did  Hunt 
would  be  right  in  the  line  of  fire  again.  With  a 
single  motion  Tom  Hicks  could  get  into  action. 

"You  derned  buttinsky!"  spat  out  Tolley  venge- 
fully.  "Mind  what  you  are  doing,  or  you'll  stop 
lead." 

"That  will  not  make  a  lie  the  truth,  Mr.  Tolley," 
rejoined  Hunt,  now  squarely  between  the  group  of 
desperadoes  and  Joe  Hurley's  position. 

"You  mean  to  say  I'm  a  liar?"  blustered  Tolley. 

"I  mean  to  say  that  the  story  you  have  repeated 
about  the  young  woman  and  the  man  you  say  has 
disappeared  has  no  foundation  in  fact  and  that  you 
have  in  your  possession  no  proof  to  back  your  state 
ment.  If  that  is  calling  you  a  liar,  Mr.  Tolley,  then 
consider  yourself  so  called  !" 

There  was  a  little  stir  among  the  listeners  at  the 
tables  —  a  stir  of  approval,  and  one  voice  ejaculated  : 

"What's  it  all  about?" 

Evidently  not  all  of  these  men  now  present  had 
been  at  hand  when  Smithy  had  taken  offense  at  Tol- 


The  Drama  of  a  Lie  217 

ley's  words  earlier  in  the  evening  which  precipitated 
this  situation.  Hunt,  without  raising  his  voice  at 
all,  continued: 

"I  take  it  that  you  have  no  new  evidence  of  a 
crime  having  been  committed?  You  did  not  see 
the  man  fall?  You  merely  saw  the  young  woman 
at  the  summit  of  the  declivity  ?  Later  you  recovered 
a  saddle  you  recognized  from  the  fallen  rubbish  ?  Am 
I  right?  Isn't  that  the  extent  of  your  evidence?" 

"Well !  Look  yere !  I  reckon  I  know  what  I  am 
talkin'  about " 

"But  you  do  not  talk  about  what  you  know," 
interposed  Hunt.  "To  my  personal  knowledge — 
and  that  of  Mr.  Hurley — the  missing  man  was  not 
buried  under  that  heap  of  rubbish  with  his  horse." 

"Then  he  went  into  the  river !"  cried  Tolley. 

Here  Joe  Hurley  put  in  a  very  pungent  word : 

"And  that  might  easily  be  true.  If  you  found 
his  horse  and  removed  the  saddle,  you  might  have 
found  the  man,  too,  Tolley,  and  removed  some  of  his 
harness." 

"What's  that?"  was  the  startled  demand. 

"From  the  first,"  Joe  said  sternly,  "I  suspected 
you,  Tolley.  Your  dust  won't  hide  what  you  have 
done.  You  are  altogether  too  sure  the  man  is  dead 
— after  first  reporting  that  you  had  heard  from 
him  in  Denver. 

"In  fact,  you  are  too  anxious  to  cast  suspicion 
on  another  person.  Your  conscience — if  you  have 


218         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

such  a  thing — is  troubling  you,  Tolley.  At  least, 
your  fears  have  made  you  try  to  invent  a  lie  that 
doesn't  work  out  just  the  way  you  expected  it  to." 

"I'll  show  you " 

"You'll  show  me  nothing,  Tolley !"  retorted  Hur 
ley.  "You'll  listen — and  these  other  gentlemen. 
You  got  the  man's  saddle.  It  is  just  as  probable 
that  you  found  his  body,  as  well  as  that  of  the  horse. 
And  he  was  known  to  wear  a  money-belt  around 
his  waist.  He  was  likewise  known  to  be  well-fixed 
when  he  left  Canyon  Pass.  He'd  been  doing  well 
here.  You  knew  it,  if  anybody  did.  You  confess 
that  you  rode  after  the  man.  And  you  confess  that 
you  got  his  saddle.  Confess  the  rest  of  it,  you  dog. 
What  else  have  you  got  in  your  safe  that  belonged 

Boss  Tolley  threw  caution  to  the  winds  at  this 
juncture.  Hurley's  scathing  denunciation  pricked 
to  life  in  him  such  personal  courage  as  he  possessed. 
He  flung  himself  forward  with  a  howl  of  rage  and 
whipped  the  gun  from  the  holster  at  his  hip. 

"Get  down,  Willie !"  shouted  Hurley  and  flung  the 
table  on  its  edge  with  a  crash,  dropping  behind  it. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  FACE  IN  THE  STORM 

AN  interruption — a  voice  as  hoarse  as  the  croak 
of  a  vulture — rose  above  the  din  of  other  voices : 

"Tolley!  You  other  fellers !  Put  'em  up!  H'ist 
'em!" 

Tolley  halted — it  seemed  in  midflight.  Even  the 
gun  hand  of  Tom  Hicks  relaxed.  From  the  other 
side  of  the  room  old  Steve  Siebert  commanded  the 
situation — and  the  group  of  desperate  men.  The 
black  muzzle  of  his  gun  gaped  like  the  mouth  of  a 
cannon.  Hunt  did  not  stand  between  him  and  Tol- 
ley's  crowd.  The  old  man  steadied  the  barrel  of  his 
weapon  on  the  edge  of  the  table  behind  which  he 
sat  and  covered  the  bunch  perfectly. 

"H'ist  'em!"  he  said  again,  and  as  Tolley's  gun 
clattered  to  the  floor  and  Hicks  thrust  back  his 
weapon  into  his  sheath,  he  added:  "I  don't  aim  to 
mix  in  what  ain't  my  business,  as  a  usual  thing. 
But  when  I  see  seven  skunks  goin'  after  two  boys — 
an'  one  o'  them  a  parson  and  not  ironed  a-tall — I 
reckon  on  takin'  a  hand.  Put  'em  up!" 

The  ruffians  obeyed.  Seven  pairs  of  hands 
reached  for  the  smoke-begrimed  ceiling.  Several 

219 


220        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

startled  faces  appeared  under  the  archway  between 
the  barroom  and  the  dance  hall.  One  was  the  desert- 
bitten  countenance  of  Andy  McCann.  He  would 
not  have  sat  to  drink  in  the  same  room  with  his  one 
time  partner;  but  Steve  Siebert's  voice  had  stung 
McCann  to  action.  Steve  saw  him. 

"Andy,  you  derned  old  rat!"  Steve  cried,  "shut 
that  office  door  and  lock  it.  Then,  just  frisk  them 
rustlers  and  remove  their  irons.  There  ain't  goin' 
to  be  no  shootin.'  Whatever  the  row  is,  it's  goin'  to 
be  settled  plumb  peaceful." 

McCann  snarled  at  the  other  old  pocket-hunter 
like  a  tiger  cat;  but  he  obeyed — and  not  without 
some  enjoyment  of  the  chagrin  of  Tolley  and  his 
gangsters. 

"It  takes  us  old  sourdoughs  to  be  slick,"  he 
chuckled,  when  he  had  dumped  an  armful  of  guns  on 
an  empty  table.  "You  boys  ain't  dry  behind  the 
ears  yet  when  it  comes  to  shootin'  scrapes." 

"There  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  shootin',"  repeated 
Steve  Siebert.  "Not  'nless  them  fellers  start  it  with 
their  mouths,"  and  he  grinned  such  a  toothless  grin 
that  he  almost  lost  his  grip  on  the  pipestem  clamped 
in  one  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"Now,  what's  it  all  about?  What's  the  row? 
What  gal  you  talkin'  about  ?  Who's  the  feller  that 
was  killed?  I'm  sort  o'  curious." 

Joe  Hurley  stood  erect  again.    He  laughed. 


A  Face  in  the  Storm  221 

"Great  saltpeter!"  he  exclaimed,  "you  certainly 
are  a  friend  in  need,  old-timer." 

"Come  on,"  rejoined  Steve.  "Let's  have  the  per- 
tic'lars." 

It  was  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  who  took 
upon  himself  the  explanation. 

"Nell  Blossom !"  cried  Steve.  "That  leetle  song 
bird?  You  mean  to  say  all  this  row  is  over  her?" 

"Mr.  Tolley  has  made  the  statement  that  Miss 
Blossom  was  the  cause  of  this  Beckworth's  death. 
His  horse  went  over  the  cliff  into  the  canyon. 
Whether  or  not  the  man  went  with  it " 

"He  did !"  cried  Andy  McCann,  smiting  his  thigh 
resoundingly  with  his  palm.  "By  gravy!  Is  that 
what's  eatin'  all  you  fellers?" 

"Say!  Who's  runnin'  this  court,  I'd  like  to 
know?"  demanded  Steve  Siebert  angrily. 

"Aw,  shut  up — you  old  lizard,"  said  McCann, 
flaming  at  him.  "  'Tain't  no  court.  It  ain't  nothin' 
like  it.  Put  up  your  gun.  It's  all  off.  Dick  the 
Devil  ain't  dead  at  all.  At  least  he  wasn't  killed 
that  time  he  went  over  the  cliff.  He's  Dick  the 
Devil  sure  'nough,  and  he's  got  more  luck  than  a 
hanged  man." 

"Just  what  do  you  mean?"  Hunt  asked. 

"Why,  we  seen  him — me  and  that  old  rat  sittin' 
there  with  his  gun,  makin'  goo-goo  eyes.  Sure !  And 
me  and  him  pulled  Dick  out  of  the  river.  He  went 
clean  over  his  horse's  head  and  landed  in  the  river — 


222         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

same's  a  bird.  He  might  have  been  drowned  if  me 
and  that  ground  owl  there  hadn't  got  him  out.  But 
he  never  said  one  word  about  Nell  Blossom  bein' 
with  him  or  havin'  anything  to  do  with  his  comin' 
down  that  cliff.  No,  sir !" 

"Nary  a  word,"  agreed  the  surprised  Siebert. 
"Nary  a  word." 

"What — what  became  of  him?"  stammered  Hunt, 
a  great  weight  lifted  from  his  heart. 

"He  went  along  with  me  to  the  edge  of  the  desert," 
said  Siebert  slowly.  "He  dried  out  at  my  fire  that 
night.  Next  morning  he  lit  out  to  hit  the  Lamber- 
'ton  trail.  That's  all  I  know  about  Dick." 

"And  it's  more  than  I  knowed,"  grunted  Andy 
McCann.  "That  old  rat  there  might  have  garroted 
Dick  for  his  money.  But  it  sure  wasn't  Nell  Blos 
som  that  croaked  Dick  the  Devil — if  he's  dead  at 
all." 

Here  Hunt  stepped  between  the  two  old  prospec 
tors.  It  looked  as  though  somebody  had  to  separate 
them  or  there  might  have  been  a  shooting,  after  all ! 

But  it  was  Joe  Hurley  who  had  the  last  word. 
He  set  up  the  overturned  table  and  walked  over  to 
the  bar. 

"To  show  that  there's  no  hard  feelings,"  he 
drawled,  "this'll  be  on  me.  Get  busy,  Tolley,  on 
the  right  side  of  this  bar.  And  hereafter,  you  think 
twice  before  you  say  anything  you're  not  dead  sure 
of  about  Nell  Blossom.  Somebody'd  better  drag 


A  Face  in  the  Storm  223 

Sam  Tubbs  out  from  under  that  table.  He  don't 
want  to  miss  this." 

There  sounded  a  sudden  rush  of  heavily  shod  feet 
outside  the  barroom  door.  As  Hunt  had  expected, 
an  angry  crowd  from  Colorado  Brown's  burst  in. 

"Just  in  season,  boys,"  Hurley  continued.  "All 
a  mistake  about  our  Nell.  Tolley  just  proved  him 
self  to  be  as  careless  with  the  truth  as  he  always 
is.  Isn't  that  so,  Tolley?" 

Tolley  grunted. 

The  winter  weather  forecast  by  the  return  of  Steve 
Siebert  and  Andy  McCann  from  the  desert  held  off 
the  next  morning  when  Betty  Hunt  and  Nell  started 
on  their  usual  ride  into  the  hills. 

Nell  had  heard  a  garbled  report  but  few  of  the 
particulars  of  the  incident  which  the  night  before 
had  threatened  bloodshed  at  the  Grub  Stake.  She 
knew  that  the  parson  had  again  done  something  that 
was  sure  to  endear  him  to  the  Passonians  in  gen 
eral.  And  his  courageous  act  had  been  in  her  cause. 
But  she  had  failed  to  learn  of  the  disproval  of  Dick 
Beck  worth's  reported  death. 

She  said  nothing  to  Betty  about  the  incident.  She 
had  begun  to  shrink  from  discussing  the  rougher 
side  of  the  life  of  Canyon  Pass  with  the  parson's 
sister.  As  Joe  Hurley  would  have  expressed  it,  Nell 
Blossom  was  becoming  "right  gentled"  through  her 
association  with  Betty  Hunt. 


224        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Betty  herself,  in  Nell's  company,  managed  to  put 
aside  those  more  serious  thoughts  and  anxieties  of 
mind  that  ruffled  her  natural  composure  at  other 
times.  Since  the  day,  weeks  before,  when  she  had 
been  forced  to  wreck  Joe  Hurley's  hope  of  happi 
ness,  the  cloud  of  despondency  that  overshadowed 
her  life  seemed  at  times  greater  than  she  could  live 
under. 

Nor  could  the  Eastern  girl  put  aside  such  thoughts 
of  the  Westerner  as  at  first  amazed  and  startled, 
then  revealed  to  the  honest  soul  of  Betty  Hunt  that 
the  unfortunate  circumstance  in  her  past  life  that 
made  it  impossible  for  her  to  make  Joe  happy,  like 
wise  barred  her  own  heart  from  happiness. 

Wicked  as  her  strict  up-bringing  made  the  fact 
seem,  she  had  to  admit  that  she  had  fallen  under 
the  spell  of  Joe  Hurley's  generous  character,  that 
she  loved  him.  She  could  not  deny  this  discovery, 
although  it  filled  her  mind  with  confusion.  Wedded 
to  a  man  she  hated  and  in  love  with  a  man  she  could 
not  wed! 

In  any  event,  this  was  a  secret — like  the  other 
that  so  disturbed  her — which  under  no  circumstances 
could  she  confide  to  either  her  brother  or  any  friend. 
At  first  she  felt  the  discovery  a  degrading  one. 
Brought  up  as  she  had  been  under  the  grim  puri- 
tanism  of  her  Aunt  Prudence  Mason,  the  idea  of 
a  married  woman  admitting  that  she  loved  a  man 
other  than  the  one  she  was  married  to  was  a  sin. 


A  Face  in  the  Storm  225 

The  idea  of  divorce  was  as  foreign  to  her  religious 
training  as  was  the  thought  of  fratricide. 

She  was  cheerful  on  the  surface  at  least  when  she 
and  Nell  rode  out  of  Canyon  Pass  and  through  the 
East  Fork.  They  climbed  the  canyon  wall  on  that 
side  by  a  tortuous  path  on  which  only  a  burro  or  a 
very  sure-footed  pony  was  safe.  It  was  Nell,  when 
they  were  once  on  the  summit,  who  discovered  the 
threat  of  a  weather  change. 

The  air  was  very  keen.  Many  of  the  bushes  by  the 
way  had  shriveled  during  the  night  as  though  before 
a  furnace  blast. 

"Black  frost,"  said  the  younger  girl.  "Old  Steve 
and  Andy  know  their  little  book.  Sam  says  Steve 
told  him  there  was  a  blizzard  coming.  We  won't 
ride  far  to-day,  Betty." 

"A  blizzard?  Only  fancy,  "  murmured  the  East 
ern  girl. 

She  was  not  much  impressed.  She  had  no  experi 
ence — even  of  New  England  winter  storms — to  en 
able  her  to  judge  the  nature  of  a  storm  in  these 
Western  mountains. 

But  Nell  should  have  known  better  than  to  lead 
the  way  into  a  gulch  which  quite  shut  them  in  from 
sight  of  the  surrounding  country.  A  blizzard  is  a 
chancy  thing;  and  often  the  first  storm  of  a  West 
ern  winter  is  the  worst  of  all. 

They  rode  to  a  spring  at  which  deer  drank;  they 
saw  many  tracks,  but  there  were  none  of  the  pretty 


226         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

creatures  in  sight.  Birds  fluttered  through  the 
chaparral  with  strange  cries,  and  the  rabbits  ran 
back  and  forth  as  though  much  disturbed  by  domes 
tic  happenings. 

"I  never  saw  them  jacks  so  queer  acting,"  said 
Nell  thoughtfully.  "We'd  better  ride  home,  Betty." 

"Why?"  asked  the  other  girl  gayly.  "You  are 
not  afraid  they  will  attack  us,  are  you?" 

"Not  that,"  and  the  Western-born  young  woman 
smiled.  "But  there's  something  comin',  I  reckon — 
just  as  Steve  and  Andy  say." 

Before  they  rode  up  out  of  the  gulch  they  heard 
something  slashing  like  a  multitude  of  knives 
through  the  dead  leaves  overhead.  When  they  rode 
out  into  the  open  they  beheld  the  thick  cloud  that 
had  almost  reached  the  zenith,  and  out  of  that  cloud 
came  not  snow,  but  ice ! 

Fine  particles  of  the  sharpest  crystal  were  driven 
in  a  thick  haze  through  the  singing  air.  Nell  in 
stantly  whipped  off  her  neckcloth  and  tied  it  across 
her  nose  and  mouth,  warning  Betty  to  follow  her  ex 
ample. 

"Get  this  in  your  lungs,  Betty,  and  you'll  have 
pneumonia  as  sure  as  sure !"  she  shouted. 

Frightened,  they  urged  their  ponies  on  to  the  be 
ginning  of  the  rough  path  down  the  canyon  wall. 
Although  they  were  soon  somewhat  sheltered  from 
the  driving  ice-storm  there  were  bare  places  where 
the  two  girls  suffered  the  full  force  of  the  gale. 


A  Face  in  the  Storm  227 

"I  know  a  place !"  cried  Nell  in  a  muffled  voice. 
"We  got  to  hole  up  till  this  stops.  Come  on!" 

It  had  grown  dark  of  a  sudden.  Nell  pulled  her 
pony  off  the  path,  and  he  picked  his  way  daintily 
to  a  cavity  in  the  wall.  Here  an  overhanging  rock 
offered  some  shelter.  At  least,  the  girls  were  out 
of  the  steady  beat  of  the  storm. 

They  dismounted  and  got  behind  the  ponies,  be 
tween  their  warm  bodies  and  the  rock  itself.  If 
Betty  was  the  more  frightened  of  the  two,  she 
showed  it  no  more  than  did  Nell  Blossom. 

The  air  became  thicker  and  the  whine  of  the  wind 
rose  to  a  shriek  which  all  but  drowned  their  voices 
when  they  tried  to  communicate  with  each  other.  It 
was  such  a  manifestation  of  the  storm  king  as  Betty 
Hunt  had  never  seen  before. 

They  were  but  a  little  way  off  the  path.  Sudden 
ly  both  girls,  in  spite  of  the  wind,  heard  the  clatter 
of  shod  hoofs.  Another  horse  was  coming  down 
the  path.  In  a  moment  they  dimly  saw  the  looming 
figure  of  a  man  leading  the  animal. 

"Who  is  it?"  gasped  Betty,  but  if  Nell  heard 
the  question  she  did  not  answer. 

Nell  clutched  Betty's  wrist  for  silence.  The  girls 
stared  at  the  man  beating  his  way  downward.  He 
wore  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  but  they  could  see  the 
long,  black,  curling  hair  flowing  from  beneath  it. 
He  turned  his  face  toward  them,  and  Betty  beheld 
the  keen  face  and  heavy  mustache  of  the  stranger 


228         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

she  had  seen  hiding  from  the  sheriff  and  his  posse 
weeks  before  near  the  trail  to  Hoskins ! 

The  man  progressed  so  slowly,  and  he  was  so  near, 
that  the  Eastern  girl  could  study  his  features  now 
with  more  certainty.  There  was  something  in  the 
contour  of  his  face  that  reminded  her  of  Andy  Wil- 
kenson ! 

Could  it  be  he  ?  Was  it  possible  that  this  fugitive 
— the  man  the  officers  had  accused  of  a  crime — was 
the  debonair  Andy  who  had  so  enthralled  her  girlish 
mind  and  heart  back  there  at  Grandhampton  Hall  ? 

She  had  not  forgotten  Wilkenson's  observations 
about  Crescent  City.  Betty  had  never  ceased  to 
fear  that  he  might  appear  to  her  in  this  part  of  the 
great  West.  But  here — now — and  in  this  dramatic 
manner  ? 

Much  shaken,  she  turned  to  look  at  Nell  Blos 
som.  She  suddenly  realized  that  the  other  girl  was 
sagging  against  her  shoulder  very  strangely.  She 
glanced  down  into  Nell's  muffled  face. 

The  younger  girl's  eyes  were  closed.  She  was  as 
pallid  as  death  itself.  Nell  Blossom  had  fainted ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  GREAT   LIGHT  DAWNS 

SOME  men  can  escape  their  duty  if  they  choose  to 
— can  ignore  it,  flout  it,  even  deny  its  very  existence 
— but  not  one  who  is  called  to  be  a  leader  of  men 
toward  a  higher  plane  of  daily  existence.  The  great 
est  sophism  with  which  the  race  has  ever  been 
cursed  is  that  hoary  one  of  the  lazy  preacher :  "Do 
as  I  say,  not  as  I  do." 

Religious  precept  is  utterly  worthless  if  the  pre 
ceptor  does  not  follow  his  own  expounded  faith  with 
a  living  example.  The  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt 
had  come  to  that  pass  where  he  could  no  longer 
ignore  the  fact  that  his  friend,  Joe  Hurley,  was  on 
the  down  grade.  When  the  parson  cooled  down 
after  the  exciting  events  of  that  evening,  both  in 
Colorado  Brown's  place  and  at  the  Grub  Stake,  he 
saw  more  clearly  that  he  had  fallen  into  error. 

If  he  was  to  be  the  spiritual  guide  and  mentor 
of  his  congregation  at  Canyon  Pass,  he  must  be 
the  same  to  one  member  of  it  as  he  was  to  an 
other.  He  had  not  been  slow  to  admonish  others  of 
his  parishioners ;  but  the  man  who  had  brought  him 
here — the  one  whom  he  really  looked  upon  as  being 

229 


230         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

his  chief  supporter  in  the  work  he  was  striving  to 
do — was  slipping  away  from  him  and  into  flagrantly 
evil  ways. 

If  Hunt's  character  has  been  revealed  at  all  in  this 
narrative,  moral  and  physical  courage  have  not 
seemed  to  be  its  lack.  Then  why  had  the  young  par 
son  failed  to  go  after  Joe  Hurley  as  he  did  after  Jud- 
son,  the  storekeeper,  Sam  Tubbs,  Hi  Brownell, 
Smithy,  and  other  men  who  were  wont  to  'kick  over 
the  traces?" 

There  was  just  one  clear  and  cogent  reason  why 
Hunt  had  not  taken  Joe  to  task  for  his  failings,  as 
he  already  had  many  another  man  in  Canyon  Pass. 
His  old  friendship  for  Joe  had  nothing  to  do  with 
this  neglect.  And  certainly  he  did  not  fear  making 
the  good  cause  in  which  he  was  so  interested  a  power 
ful  enemy.  There  was  nothing  in  Joe  Hurley's  gen 
erous  character  that  would  suggest  that  for  a  mo 
ment. 

It  was,  in  short,  the  fact  that  Hunt  believed  that 
he  and  Joe  were  in  love  with  the  same  girl. 

Although,  as  far  as  Hunt  had  observed,  Nell  Blos 
som  displayed  no  particular  fondness  for  Joe  Hur 
ley,  the  latter  believed  the  mining  man  "understood" 
the  cabaret  singer.  At  least,  Nell  revealed  no  such 
disdain  for  Joe  Hurley  as  she  had  publicly  for 
Hunt. 

When  the  latter  reviewed  the  late  incidents  as  they 
related  to  Joe,  while  he  tossed  on  his  mattress  that 


A  Great  Light  Dawns  231 

night,  he  admitted  he  was  taking  the  wrong  course 
with  his  friend.  He  had  seemed  tacitly  to  over 
look  sins  of  commission  on  Joe's  part  that  he  would 
have  pilloried  in  another. 

Had  Hurley  not  been  heated  by  drink  and  his 
passion  for  gambling,  he  would  not  have  pursued 
that  unwise  course  in  going  to  the  Grub  Stake  in  a 
mood  which  had  all  but  precipitated  tragedy.  Joe's 
recklessness  had  been  unleashed,  and  Hunt  had  been 
obliged  to  stand  by  after  the  unexpected  conclusion 
of  the  scene  and  see  his  friend  drink  with  the  very 
men  who,  a  few  minutes  before,  had  been  ready  to 
take  Joe's  life. 

He  arose  with  a  new  determination.  He  saw  his 
sister  and  Nell  Blossom  ride  away  from  the  Wild 
Rose  Hotel.  Then  he  made  his  way  directly  to  the 
Great  Hope  Mine. 

Hurley  had  an  office — a  small  shack — off  at  one 
side.  The  parson  found  him  alone  in  it,  his  boots 
cocked  on  his  battered  desk,  his  pipe  drawing  well. 
His  grin  was  as  infectious  as  ever. 

"Well,  Willie!  some  time  that  last  night,  eh?" 
was  Joe's  greeting.  "When  I  get  in  a  tight  corner 
again,  I'll  never  wish  for  a  better  side-partner  than 
you,  old  sobersides!" 

"Joe,"  returned  Hunt  with  a  directness  that 
seemed  brutal,  "if  you  had  been  your  sober  self  last 
night — quite  the  same  man  you  are  wont  to  be — 
there  would  have  been  no  tight  corner." 


232        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Huh?"  The  other's  boots  came  to  the  floor  with 
emphasis.  His  brown  eyes  sparked.  The  muscles 
of  his  jaws  set  grimly.  "You've  got  a  crust,  Willie, 
to  talk  to  me  like  that." 

"You  need  talking  to,  Joe;  and  I'm  going  to  do 
the  talking.  No !  Sit  right  where  you  are  and 
listen.  You've  got  it  coming  to  you;  and,  if  you 
are  the  man  I  have  always  thought  you,  you'll  stand 
the  gaff." 

"Aw,  shucks !  A  drink  or  two  isn't  going  to  kill 
Joe  Hurley." 

"A  drink  or  two  kills  his  moral  sense,  and  kills  his 
usefulness  as  a  good  citizen,"  returned  Hunt.  "Then, 
you  have  been  gambling  steadily." 

"Great  saltpeter !  isn't  a  feller  to  have  any  fun  at 
all?  I  haven't  lost  much  to  Miguel." 

"It  is  your  example  to  the  rest.  And  what  you 
have  lost  would  help  the  fund  for  our  church  build 
ing.  And  we  must  have  a  church,  Joe." 

Joe  uttered  something  under  his  breath. 

"What  makes  you  so  reckless,  Joe?" 

"Shucks,  Willie!  Maybe  I  have  slipped  a  few 
cogs.  A  lone  bachelor  like  me  can't  help  it  some 
times,  can  he?"  asked  Hurley,  with  a  smile  that  tried 
to  be  whimsical  rather  than  bitter.  "Remember, 
Willie,  I  haven't  got  a  sister  to  keep  me  well  bal 
anced.  It's  womenfolks  and — and  an  interest  in 
one  that  makes  a  man  a  sobersides." 

"Is  it!"  returned  Hunt,  with  scorn.     "If  a  man 


A  Great  Light  Dawns  233 

hasn't  the  stamina  to  stay  straight,  no  girl  will  ever 
keep  him  in  the  narrow  path — believe  me !" 

"You  belittle  Miss  Betty's  powers  of  persuasion," 
returned  Joe,  with  a  sly  glance. 

"If  that  is  your  belief,"  Hunt  said,  with  sharp 
ness  and  a  rising  color,  "I  should  think  you  would 
keep  straight  for  Nell's  sake." 

"Nell  Blossom?" 

"Yes.    You  are  interested  in  her,  aren't  you?" 

"Surest  thing  you  know,  Willie." 

"Then,  for  her  sake " 

"Hold  on!"  ejaculated  Hurley,  sudden  suspicion 
in  his  gaze.  "Do  you  think  I'm  soft  on  Nell?" 

"Well — er — aren't  you?"  demanded  his  friend 
rather  faintly. 

"I'm  free  to  confess  I  was,"  said  Joe  slowly, 
watching  Hunt  now  with  growing  understanding  in 
his  eyes.  "But  that  little  skeesicks  showed  me  where 
I  got  off  long  ago.  And  I  tell  you  fair,  Willie,  she 
is  not  the  girl  who  is  bothering  me." 

"Then,  there  is  a  girl?    Joe!  You  and  Betty " 

Hurley  put  up  his  hand,  turning  his  face  away. 
"No  use,  Willie.  Betty's  given  me  my  conge,  too. 
I  reckon  I  am  an  'also-ran'  with  the  ladies." 

"My  dear  Joe!"  Hunt  grabbed  his  hand.  "I'm 
sorry.  I  don't  understand  Betty." 

Hurley  went  to  the  door  suddenly,  opened  it,  and 
looked  out.  A  cold  blast  from  the  hills  ruffled  the 
papers  on  the  desk.  The  sun  was  suddenly  dimmed. 


234         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

In  the  distance  the  coming  wind  whined  like  a  sick 
dog. 

"Say!  we're  going  to  get  it,"  he  muttered. 

"A  storm  coming?"  asked  Hunt  absently.  His 
own  heart  sang.  A  foolish  happiness  swept  over 
him.  He  went  to  look  out  over  Hurley's  shoulder. 
"Does  it  look  bad  to  you?" 

"Youbetcha!  It's  coming  faster  than  you  ever 
saw  a  storm  move,  I  reckon,  Willie.  Those  old  has- 
beens,  Steve  and  Andy,  can't  be  fooled.  They  got 
in  from  the  desert  just  ahead  of  it." 

"A  blizzard,  Joe?"  cried  the  parson  with  sud 
den  anxiety.  "The  girls !" 

"What  about  them?    What  girls?" 

"Betty  and  Nell.  They've  gone  out  on  horse 
back." 

"You  don't  mean  it?  Er — Well,  Nell  must  have 
seen  it  coming  and  turned  back.  She  knows  this 
country  as  well  as  a  man.  But,  come  on !  Let's  go 
down  to  Tim's  corral  and  see  if  the  ponies  are  in 
again.  It  wouldn't  do " 

He  slammed  the  office  door,  shouted  to  his  man 
ager,  and  strode  away.  Hunt  had  to  put  his  best 
foot  forward  to  keep  up  with  him.  Women. and 
children  were  already  scuttling  to  shelter  when  they 
went  down  through  the  town.  Bill  Judson  waved  a 
hand  at  them  from  his  door,  shouting: 

"Them  old  desert  rats  knowed  their  biz,  didn't 
they?  I'd  set  my  clock  by  them,  I  would." 


A  Great  Light  Dawns  235 

At  the  corral  the  two  young  men  saw  at  a  glance 
that  the  girls'  ponies  had  not  been  returned  by  Cholo 
Sam.  They  went  on  toward  the  hotel  in  silence. 
Now  the  first  needles  of  the  ice-storm  cut  their  faces. 
It  was  nothing  like  any  storm  Hunt  had  ever  seen. 
And  how  fast  it  grew  in  volume  and  strength! 

Cholo  Sam  and  Maria  were  at  the  door  of  the 
hotel,  looking  down  the  street  eagerly  and  anxiously. 

"Which  way  did  they  go?"  shouted  Hurley,  with 
out  any  preamble. 

"Oh,  Sefior  Hurley!"  cried  Sam.  "To  the  East. 
Troo  the  East  Fork." 

Already  sight  of  the  rugged  path  up  the  heights 
on  that  side  of  the  canyon  was  blotted  out  by  the 
driving  ice  particles. 

"Shall  we  get  horses  and  go  after  them?"  panted 
Hunt. 

"Horses  won't  live  in  this.  Maybe  we  can  stir 
up  some  of  the  boys  to  go  with  us.  Wish  I  had 
my  roughnecks  here." 

But  there  was  not  time  to  go  back  to  the  mine. 
The  storm  had  come  on  so  suddenly  that  the  workers 
above  the  town  might  hole  in  until  the  first  force 
of  the  blizzard  was  over. 

Hunt  ran  up  to  his  room  to  get  his  heavier  coat 
and  a  couple  of  blankets.  As  he  descended  the  stairs, 
Cholo  Sam  came  from  the  barroom  with  a  filled 
flask  in  his  hand. 

"Some  of  the  best  brandy,  Senor  Hunt,"  he  said. 


236         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"It  is  for  the  seekness  only  that  comes  with  the 
cold.  Ah  thees  ice  in  the  lungs  is  death,  senor — 
death!" 

The  parson  took  it  without  hesitation  and  slipped 
it  into  his  pocket.  He  ran  out  to  see  Joe  Hurley 
coming  out  of  Colorado  Brown's  place  with  Jib  Col 
lins  and  Cale  Mack  behind  him.  In  another  few  sec 
onds,  so  rapidly  did  the  driving  ice  thicken  the  air, 
Hunt  lost  sight  of  the  trio  and  they  fairly  bumped 
into  him  when  they  reached  the  spot  where  he 
stood. 

"That  you,  Willie?"  shouted  Hurley.  "We'll  get 
a  rope  and  tie  ourselves  together.  Tie  mufflers  over 
our  faces.  Say,  there  may  be  some  more  fellers 
in  the  Grub  Stake  who  will  help." 

He  turned  that  way,  finding  his  direction  more  by 
sense  than  by  sight.  They  stumbled  up  the  steps 
and  in  at  the  door  of  the  Grub  Stake. 

At  that  very  moment  a  half -frozen  man,  leading 
a  storm-battered  horse,  had  fallen  at  Tolley's  rear 
door.  The  dive  keeper  was  dragging  him  into  the 
place  like  a  log  as  Hurley,  Hunt,  and  their  com 
panions  strode  into  the  barroom. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  BARRIER  DOWN FOR  A   MOMENT 

"HEY,  you  fellers !"  shouted  Tolley  to  the  several 
men  in  the  barroom  of  the  Grub  Stake.  "Come  give 
me  a  hand.  Here's  a  feller  that's  taken  pretty  near 
his  last  pill,  I  reckon." 

The  parson,  as  well  as  Hurley  and  the  others, 
responded  to  the  dive  keeper's  call.  Tolley  kicked 
shut  the  back  door  with  savage  insistence  against 
the  driving  wind. 

"I  reckon  his  hoss  is  done  for,"  he  panted.  "But 
the  feller  himself — Hi,  Nobbs !  get  him  a  jolt  of 
something  hot." 

Hunt  and  Joe  Hurley  helped  raise  the  sense 
less  man,  and,  with  Tolley  carrying  the  feet,  they 
moved  him  close  to  one  of  the  glowing  stoves.  His 
hat  fell  off.  It  was  Joe  who  voiced  a  surprise  that 
was  not  his  alone. 

"Why,  Tolley!  here's  your  dead  man  now.  As 
I'm  a  sinner — and  the  parson  assures  me  that  I  am 
— this  is  Dick  Beckworth." 

"Dick  the  Devil!"  ejaculated  two  or  three  in 
chorus. 

"This  is  a  nice  sort  of  a  day  for  him  to  come 
237 


238         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

back,"  muttered  Tolley,  evidently  quite  as  much 
amazed  as  the  others. 

Hunt  peered  into  the  face  of  the  senseless  man. 
There  was  a  certain  regularity  of  feature,  in  spite 
of  the  sharpness  and  blueness  caused  by  the  ex 
treme  cold  he  had  suffered,  which  the  parson  saw 
might  lead  the  casual  observer  to  consider  Dick 
Beckworth  handsome.  His  complexion  was  as  spot 
less  as  a  girl's;  the  skin  scarcely  tanned;  ears  and 
nose  small  and  perfectly  formed;  the  closed  eyes, 
long-lashed;  and  the  brows  as  delicately  marked  as 
though  done  with  a  stencil. 

He  was  shaved,  although  he  had  come  out  of  the 
wilderness,  and  his  jet-black  mustache  was  as  silky 
as  his  long  hair.  Dick  Beckworth,  gambler  and 
lady's  man,  without  doubt  made  a  striking  appear 
ance  wherever  he  went.  Even  lying  there  on  the 
bench,  colorless,  and  with  his  eyes  closed,  the 
parson  realized  that  the  man  would  be  indeed  a 
"heart-breaker" — among  young  and  inexperienced 
women  at  least. 

It  could  not  be  doubted  that  he  had  made  a  strong 
impression  upon  the  almost  childish  mind  and  heart 
of  Nell  Blossom.  She  must  have  been  attracted  by 
this  man  just  as  she  would  have  been  by  a  gaudy 
flower  or  a  bird  of  brilliant  plumage. 

Hunt  felt  a  strange  loathing  for  the  gambler, 
much  as  his  present  state  should  excite  pity.  This 
was  the  man,  he  believed,  who  had  brought  about 


The  Barrier  Down — For  a  Moment  239 

the  change  that  Joe  Hurley  said  had  suddenly  come 
over  Nell  Blossom's  character. 

Beckworth  had  hidden  the  fact  that  he  had  es 
caped  death  through  his  fall  into  the  canyon  and 
so  had  laid  a  burden  of  terror  and  anguish  upon 
Nell's  heart,  which  was  reason  enough  for  her  ap 
parent  hatred  of  all  mankind. 

Nobbs,  the  barkeeper,  brought  the  drink  at  Tol- 
ley's  command.  They  forced  open  Dick's  jaws  and 
poured  the  potent  stuff  into  him.  The  color  al 
most  instantly  stained  his  cheeks.  His  eyelids 
fluttered.  He  choked. 

"What  was  it  Andy  McCann  said  about  him?" 
Hurley  said  thoughtfully.  "He's  got  the  luck  of  a 
hanged  man.  He's  coming  around  all  right.  But 
there  are  others  out  in  the  storm  that  need  help  more 
than  this  fellow." 

"Who's  that?"  asked  one  of  the  men  who  had  been 
loitering  at  the  Grub  Stake  bar. 

Hurley  explained  briefly  about  the  absent  girls. 
Two  men  besides  those  already  of  their  party  vol 
unteered  to  join  Hurley  and  the  parson.  A  rope — a 
hair  lariat — was  likewise  found  with  which  the 
searchers  could  bind  themselves  together.  It  would 
be  the  simplest  thing  imaginable  to  drift  away  from 
each  other  in  such  a  blinding  storm. 

Dick  Beckworth  gave  unmistakable  signs  of  re 
turning  consciousness.  He  groaned,  struggled,  raised 
up  on  an  elbow  to  stare  about. 


240         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Hold  on !"  the  parson  said  to  Joe.  "See  if  the 
man  can  speak.  He  may  know  something." 

"Right  you  are,  Willie,"  Hurley  agreed.  He 
leaned  over  the  dazed  gambler.  "Hi,  Dick !  Do  you 
know  me?  Joe  Hurley!  See?" 

"Where — where  am  I?"  whispered  Dick. 

"You're  in  the  Grub  Stake,  all  right,  Dick,"  broke 
in  Tolley  eagerly.  "The  old  Grub  Stake,  I  tell  ye — 
that  you  never  ought  t've  left." 

"Grub  Stake?  Tolley?"  questioned  Dick.  Then 
he  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  recognized  Hurley's 
face  so  close  to  his  own.  "That  you,  Joe?  I " 

"Which  way  did  you  come  into  town,  Dick?" 
broke  in  the  mining  man. 

"Eh?     What?" 

"Did  you  come  through  the  East  Fork  or  the 
West  Fork?" 

"Why— why,  the  East  Fork." 

"You  did!  Did  you  see  anybody  on  the  way 
down  ?  You  came  down  the  cliff,  didn't  you  ?  Any 
body  up  on  the  plain?"  were  Hurley's  excited  ques 
tions. 

"Why— I— I " 

"Two  women  are  out  in  the  storm,"  went  on  Hur 
ley.  "Did  you  see  them  anywhere  up  yonder?" 

"Two  women?  I — I  thought  they  were  men. 
They  rode  down  ahead  of  me.  Then  it  grew  so — 
so  thick  I  couldn't  see  'em  again." 

"Great  saltpeter !"  exclaimed  Hurley.    "You  must 


The  Barrier  Down — For  a  Moment  241 

have  passed  'em.  They  are  up  there  somewhere 
among  the  rocks." 

"Or  they've  gone  over  the  rocks — hosses  and  all !" 
groaned  Collins. 

"Shut  up !"  muttered  his  chum,  Cale  Mack.  "Ain't 
you  got  no  sense  ?  Look  at  the  parson !" 

"This  is  Parson  Hunt,"  explained  Hurley  to  the 
staring  Dick.  "His  sister  Betty  is  one  of  the  miss 
ing  girls  you  saw." 

"Who?"'  gasped  Dick.  "Betty  Hunt?  Here? 
Here  ?  At  Canyon  Pass  ?" 

"My  sister,"  Hunt  said  hoarsely.  "Didn't  you 
see  her  and  Nell  Blossom  again  as  you  rode  down  ?" 

"Your  sister?"  repeated  the  startled  gambler. 
"Betty  Hunt — your  sister?" 

He  fell  back  and  closed  his  eyes.  Hurley  started 
for  the  front  door. 

"No  time  to  lose,  boys,"  he  cried.  "Come  on! 
Betty  and  Nell  are  somewhere  up  there  along  that 
path.  No  more  delay." 

He  had  already  knotted  one  end  of  the  rope  around 
his  waist.  Hunt  followed  his  example,  leaving  six 
feet  or  more  of  slack  between  them.  The  other  men 
who  were  going  with  them  quickly  fastened  them 
selves  in  rotation.  They  knotted  neckerchiefs  or 
mufflers  across  their  faces.  Nobbs  opened  the  door 
for  them,  and  the  file  went  out  into  the  storm. 

The  roar  of  the  storm  as  the  men  came  out  upon 
the  open  bank  of  the  East  Fork  made  the  human 


242         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

voice  quite  inaudible.  Nor  could  they  communi 
cate  by  signs,  for  only  the  dim  outlines  of  the 
man  before  him  could  be  seen  by  the  man  behind. 
A  tug  of  the  rope  was  the  only  signal  understood  be 
tween  the  searchers. 

The  driven  hail  churned  the  surface  of  the  river 
to  a  livid  foam.  The  reflection  of  this  sheet  of 
ruffled  water  lent  them  more  light  than  the  sun  it 
self.  The  storm  beat  upon  the  string  of  men  with 
a  savageness  that  appalled  Hunt,  who  had  never 
experienced  nature  in  so  bitter  a  mood. 

But  what  these  men  of  Canyon  Pass  could  do,  the 
parson  would  not  shrink  from.  And  were  not  the 
two  beings  he  loved  most  in  this  world — Nell  Blos 
som  and  his  sister  Betty — in  desperate  peril  some 
where  on  the  other  side  of  the  wind-lashed  stream? 

The  water  was  all  of  knee-depth  over  the  bar,  but 
Joe  waded  in  without  hesitation.  They  were  none 
of  them  shod  properly  for  the  wading  of  the  stream; 
but  their  personal  discomfort — or,  indeed,  their  per 
sonal  peril  in  any  way — did  not  enter  into  their  con 
sideration  in  this  emergency.  Two  girls  were  some 
where  up  there  among  the  rocks,  harassed  by  the 
storm  and  in  danger  of  their  lives.  The  men's  job 
was  to  get  them. 

The  ice — it  was  more  than  mere  sleet  that  whipped 
them  so  unmercifully — cut  such  parts  of  their  faces 
as  were  bare,  needle  sharp  and  stinging.  From  un 
der  the  peak  of  his  cap  each  man  could  now  see 


The  Barrier  Down — For  a  Moment  243 

scarcely  a  yard  before  him.  They  stumbled  on  as 
though  they  were  in  an  unlighted  cavern.  Once  Joe 
stepped  off  the  track  and  plunged  waist  deep  in  a 
hole.  Hunt  hauled  him  back  by  the  rope,  and  after 
a  moment  they  went  on  again. 

They  reached  the  farther  bank  and  stumbled  up 
the  sleet-covered  strand,  standing  in  a  group  to 
gether  for  a  minute  to  get  their  breath  and  to  ease 
the  binding-rope  about  their  bodies. 

"I  reckon  I  can  smell  out  the  path,  boys,"  said 
their  leader,  so  they  started  off  again. 

As  they  pressed  upward,  now  and  then  they  shout 
ed — sometimes  in  unison.  But  their  voices  could  not 
penetrate  the  gale  far.  The  sounds  were  blown 
back  into  their  faces  as  though  rebounding  from  a 
blank  wall. 

At  a  point  some  distance  up  the  path  Hurley  halted 
again  and  allowed  the  others  to  approach.  He 
bawled  at  them : 

"There's  a  place  yonder  somewhere  under  the 
cliff — I  remember  it — a  half -shelter.  They  might 
have  reached  it." 

"Don't  get  off  the  path,  Joe!"  warned  Jib  Collins. 

"But  if  the  girls  got  off  the  path?" 

"We  don't  want  to  lose  our  way,"  objected  Mack. 

"I'm  going  to  take  a  look!"  ejaculated  Hur 
ley  obstinately.  But  he  could  not  untie  the  knot 
which  held  him.  He  fumbled  at  it.  "Got  a  knife, 
Willie?" 


244         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

The  parson  had  already  drawn  out  his  pocket- 
knife.  But  he  slashed  the  rope  between  Collins  and 
himself. 

"I'm  going  with  you,  Joe,"  he  declared. 

"Keep  shoutin' !"  bawled  Collins,  as  the  two 
younger  men  started  off  at  a  tangent  from  the  path. 

The  bowlders  were  glassed  with  ice.  The  two 
friends  floundered  and  slipped  about  in  an  awkward 
way,  straining  themselves  enormously  and  not  sel 
dom  falling.  The  one  aided  the  other.  It  was  for 
tunate,  Hunt  realized,  that  they  had  come  together, 
for  one  man  alone  could  never  have  accomplished  the 
journey  to  the  sheer  wall  of  the  cliff. 

Of  a  sudden  there  seemed  to  be  a  lull  in  the  gale. 
Really,  they  had  reached  a  more  sheltered  spot.  The 
storm  sang  around  them,  but  they  were  not  so  ter 
ribly  buffeted. 

Joe  shouted  again: 

"Nell!    Nell  Blossom!    Betty! 

Hunt  joined  his  voice  to  that  of  his  friend.  They 
continued  to  bellow  the  girls'  names.  Hurley  grabbed 
the  parson's  arm  suddenly. 

"Hush!" 

There  was  a  response.    A  wailing  voice  replied. 

"It's  Betty!  Your  sister!"  shouted  Joe,  and 
plunged  forward,  half -dragging  the  equally  excited 
Hunt  with  him. 

Something  loomed  up  before  the  latter.  He  ran 
into  the  barrel  of  a  standing  horse! 


The  Barrier  Down — For  a  Moment  245 

"Here  they  are!"  yelled  Hurley. 

Somehow,  the  two  young  men  got  around  the 
horses.  There  was  a  sheltered  place  between  the 
beasts  and  the  wall  of  rock.  Hunt  heard  his  sister 
crying  and  laughing  somewhere  near.  But  it  was 
not  she  whom  he  first  found. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hunt!  Oh,  Mr.  Hunt!"  sobbed  Nell 
Blossom's  voice.  "Are  you  real?  You  ain't  another 
ghost,  are  you?  Oh!  Oh!" 

Hunt's  arms  were  around  the  girl,  and  he  held  her 
fast.  Near  by,  he  knew,  Joe  and  Betty  were  talk 
ing — perhaps  were  whispering.  His  own  lips  were 
close  to  Nell's  ear. 

"My  dear!  My  dear!"  the  parson  said  over  and 
over  again.  "God  is  good  to  me !  I've  found  you 
safe." 

Nell  snuggled  into  his  arms  like  a  frightened 
child  and  clung  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

UNDERSTANDING 

IT  was  Betty  Hunt,  who,  after  all,  seemed  to  pos 
sess  the  bolder  spirit  of  the  two  girls.  Nell  clung 
to  the  parson  like  a  frightened  child.  He  realized, 
however,  after  the  first  flush  of  his  emotion  that  he 
had  allowed  his  own  overpowering  desire  for  the 
singer  to  confuse  his  mind.  The  barrier  between 
them  was  down  for  a  moment  only;  he  raised  it 
again  himself,  for  he  knew  he  was  taking  advantage 
unfairly  of  the  terrified  girl. 

It  was  Hunt,  however,  who  lifted  Nell  Blossom 
into  her  pony's  saddle  with  one  of  the  blankets 
wrapped  well  about  her,  and  when  Joe  Hurley  started 
away  leading  Betty's  mount,  the  parson  followed 
close  behind.  The  two  young  men  had  freed  them 
selves  of  each  other;  but  the  horses  and  their  riders 
bulked  so  big  against  the  driving  curtain  of  the 
storm  that  they  could  scarcely  lose  each  other. 

They  heard  the  other  searchers  shouting  and  Joe 
pulled  his  gun  from  its  holster  and  fired  two  shots 
into  the  air.  The  signal  was  replied  to  immediately. 
In  a  minute  or  two  Joe  ran,  head-on,  into  Jib  Col 
lins. 

246 


Understanding  247 

"Hey!  did  you  find  'em  both?"  bawled  the  man. 

"Youbetcha  1"  responded  Hurley.  "When  the  par 
son  and  I  go  out,  we  bring  home  the  bacon,  every 
time." 

They  took  up  the  march  to  the  ford.  At  the 
water's  edge  one  of  the  other  men  came  to  the  off 
side  of  each  pony,  and  they  forced  the  snorting  ani 
mals  into  the  stream.  The  foaming  barrier  did  not 
look  encouraging  to  the  storm-beaten  beasts. 

They  all  got  through  safely  and  up  into  the 
town.  The  driving  storm  was  changing  to  snow  and 
sleet;  but  the  foundation  of  ice  that  had  first  fallen 
made  walking  difficult.  The  girls  were  lifted  off 
their  horses  and  carried  up  into  Betty's  room,  where 
Maria  gave  them  every  assistance  in  her  power. 
Somebody  put  away  the  horses.  Joe  scurried  off  to 
his  own  bachelor  shack,  while  Hunt  stripped  in  his 
room  and  gave  himself  a  savage  rub-down  with 
coarse  towels.  It  had  been  a  terrible  experience ;  but 
his  spirits  and  his  blood  were  both  in  glow ! 

Surely  Nell  Blossom  could  not  be  unfriendly  here 
after.  It  must  be  confessed  that  the  parson's  thought 
was  more  entangled  with  Nell  and  his  recent  associa 
tion  with  her  than  in  anything  else. 

Cholo  Sam  brought  up  a  steaming  pot  of  cof 
fee,  his  dark  face  expanded  with  delight. 

Ah,  Sefior  Hunt !"  the  Mexican  said,  "you  an'  de 
Sefior  Hurley — you  are  de  pure  queel,  eh  ?  De  boys 
all  cheer  you — my  goodness,  yes !" 


248         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

When  Hunt  was  dressed  again  he  went  to  Betty's 
door  and  knocked.  His  sister's  response  to  his  sum 
mons  was  brisk  and  cheerful,  as  usual.  Yet,  when 
he  entered  and  looked  keenly  at  her,  he  thought  there 
was  something  feverish — or  was  it  expectant? — in 
the  look  she  gave  him. 

The  girls  were  both  in  the  big  bed,  heaped  with 
blankets.  Nell's  petite  face,  ruffled  about  by  one  of 
Betty's  boudoir  caps,  was  pale.  Indeed,  the  parson's 
sister  looked  in  much  the  better  condition  of  the 
two.  The  excitement  and  danger  of  the  adventure 
which  had  befallen  them  seemed  to  have  affected  the 
girls  in  a  paradoxical  manner.  Whereas  the  Eastern 
girl  might  be  expected  to  be  overcome  by  the  affair 
and  Nell  have  suffered  the  adventure  as  an  ordinary 
experience,  the  result  seemed  really  to  be  the  other 
way  around!  Nell  lay  in  the  bed  pale,  almost  hys 
terical  it  would  seem.  Betty  could  scarcely  control 
her  excitement. 

"Ford!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  need  you.  Try  to 
convince  this  foolish  girl  that  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  ghost — a  real  ghost." 

Hunt  smiled,  but  he  could  not  be  unsympathetic. 
He  realized  that  Nell  Blossom,  being  brought  up  as 
she  had  been — even  associating  so  long  with  Mother 
Tubbs — was  probably  hopelessly  superstitious.  He 
could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  oppose  roughly  any 
fear  Nell  might  hold  regarding  supernatural  things. 
He  tried  to  put  his  admonition  in  a  kindly  way. 


Understanding  249 

"If  there  is  any  truth  at  all  in  the  matter  of 
ghosts,"  he  said,  "it  must  be  of  a  somewhat  unreal 
nature,  must  it  not  ?  Ghosts  are  supposed  to  be  too 
ethereal  for  sight  or  touch  or  sound.  And  the  only 
smell,  even,  accompanying  their  visitations,  is  sup 
posed  to  be  of  brimstone,  isn't  it?" 

"That  feller  ought  to  smell  of  brimstone  all  right !" 
muttered  Nell  suddenly  hectic  in  her  language.  "He 
ought  to  come  plumb  from  the  bad  place." 

"What  does  she  mean?"  Hunt  asked  Betty.  Yet 
he  half  suspected  what  was  in  the  singer's  mind. 
"Did  you  girls  see " 

"Nell  declares,"  interrupted  Betty,  still  with  that 
strange  excitement,  "that  she  has  seen  the  ghost  of 
a  man  she  calls  Dick  Beckworth." 

"Dick  Beckworth,"  Hunt  repeated  calmly.  "You 
saw  him,  I  presume,"  he  watched  the  pale  face  on 
the  pillow  all  the  time,  "on  the  side  of  the  cliff  over 
yonder?  He  rode  down  behind  you " 

"Do  you  mean "  gasped  Nell. 

A  flame  of  color  flashed  into  both  her  cheeks. 
Her  blue  eyes  grew  round  with  surprise. 

"He  says  he  came  into  town  by  that  path,"  the 
young  man  rejoined.  "He  put  us  on  to  the  track 
of  you  girls.  He  said  he  saw  you  start  down  the 
path  ahead  of  him." 

"He  is  alive !"  murmured  Nell. 

"His  horse  was  in  bad  shape,  I  believe,"  Hunt 
told  her.  "But  the  last  I  knew — just  before  we  left 


250         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

the  Grub  Stake  to  look  for  you — Dick  Beckworth 
gave  every  promise  of  getting  on  quite  well." 

"Dick  the  Devil!"  muttered  Nell.  "That  sure  is 
his  name." 

"From  what  I  have  heard  about  him,"  said  Hunt, 
"I  think  his  nickname  quite  fits  him.  But  it  was 
probably  Tolley's  meanness  alone  that  made  you — 
that  is,"  he  hastened  to  correct  himself,  "that  made 
all  of  the  trouble.  That  was  thrashed  out  last  even 
ing,  Miss  Nell.  Steve  Siebert  and  Andy  McCann 
proved  Dick  was  not  dead,  although  he  did  go  over 
the  cliff  back  there  in  the  spring." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  both  talking  about," 
Betty  interposed.  "Who  is  this — this — Dick  Beck- 
worth,  do  you  call  him?" 

"A  gambler,  Betty,"  said  her  brother.  "You  would 
scarcely  know  such  a  person.  But  unfortunately 
both  Miss  Nell  and  I  have  been  obliged  to  mix  with 
all  classes  of  society,"  he  smiled  again,  "and  so  we 
know  such  people." 

"Nell  should  not  sing  in  those  places."  Betty 
said  it  with  conviction.  But  in  a  moment  she  turned 
again  to  the  identity  of  the  man  whose  reappearance 
had  startled  Nell  Blossom  so  greatly  that  she  had 
fainted  in  the  storm.  "What — what  does  this  man, 
Dick,  look  like?" 

"Not  an  unhandsome  fellow,"  said  the  parson  gen 
erously.  "A  somewhat  cruel  face — ruthless  perhaps 
would  be  the  better  term.  Good  features ;  a  beautiful 


Understanding  251 

complexion — if  such  a  term  should  be  applied  to  a 
man's  skin,"  and  he  laughed. 

"You  do  not  like  him,  Ford!"  exclaimed  Betty 
quickly. 

"Would  I  be  likely  to?"  mildly  asked  her  brother. 

"Oh !  But  I  do  not  want  a  psychoanalysis  of  the 
man,"  said  Betty,  and  she  used  a  handkerchief  to 
half  hide  her  own  face.  "Just  what  does  he  look 
like?" 

"Mildly  dark.  A  beautiful,  oiled  mustache — like 
a  crow's  wing  as  the  Victorian  lady  novelists  would 
say.  Heavy  black  hair.  Under  different  circum 
stances — you  must  remember  I  saw  him  only  after 
he  was  dragged  out  of  the  storm  and  on  the  border 
of  a  collapse — I  judge  Dick  Beckworth  would  be 
quite  the  gentleman  in  all  appearance,  and  quite  the 
devil  at  heart." 

"You  said  it!"  agreed  Nell. 

"A  mustache — and  thick  black  hair,"  murmured 
Betty.  "Yes.  I  saw  him  go  by  when  we  were  cower 
ing  there  under  that  wall,  too.  Well,  I  am  re 
lieved."  Her  laugh  did  not  sound  right  in  her 
brother's  ears.  "I  am  glad  that  it  did  not  turn  out 
to  be  a  real  ghost." 

Hunt  sat  down  upon  a  chair  at  Nell's  side  of  the 
bed.  The  singer  looked  at  him,  and  there  sud 
denly  flashed  into  her  eyes  a  warm  light  that  en 
hanced  her  beauty.  She  put  out  a  little  brown 


252         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

hand  and  gripped  his,  which  was  only  too  ready  to 
be  seized. 

"Parson — Mr.  Hunt,  you  are  a  good  man!"  she 
said,  chokingly.  "I  heard  about  what  you  did  last 
night.  But  I  didn't  hear  all  about  it;  so  I  didn't 
know  Dick  was  alive.  I — I'm  mighty  wicked,  I 
reckon.  I  ain't  glad  he  didn't  die " 

"No  need  to  go  into  that,"  urged  Hunt  quickly. 
"All  such  things  are  in  the  hands  of  Providence. 
But  your  mind,  I  hope,  Nell,  is  relieved." 

Betty  looked  from  the  face  of  the  girl  on  the 
pillow  to  her  brother's  glowing  countenance.  It  was 
another  shock  for  Betty  Hunt,  but  she  understood. 

The  sudden,  sharp  blizzard  that  tore  across  the 
country  blew  itself  out  by  nightfall.  In  the  morn 
ing  the  sun  shone  brilliantly,  a  warm  wind  followed 
the  gale,  and  the  snow  and  ice  melted  like  a  Septem 
ber  frost.  It  had  been  only  a  foretaste  of  winter. 

The  effect  of  the  incidents  of  that  day  remained 
longer  in  the  hearts  of  some  of  the  participators 
in  the  events  than  it  did  upon  the  earth  or  the  rivers, 
the  rocks  and  gorges,  the  frosted  herbage,  or  other 
physical  and  material  matters  about  Canyon  Pass. 
To  be  in  mutual  peril,  to  suffer  alike  the  buffet- 
ings  of  the  storm,  had  linked  Betty  Hunt  and  Nell 
Blossom  with  a  chain  that  could  not  lightly  be 
severed. 

There  was,  too,  a  secret  knowledge  on  the  East- 


Understanding  253 

ern  girl's  part  that  made  this  chain  stronger  than 
Nell  imagined.  The  latter  had  no  suspicion  that 
Dick  Beckworth — Dick  the  Devil — was  a  link  in  the 
chain  that  bound  her  to  the  parson's  sister.  There 
was  as  well  another  thing  that  made  the  cabaret 
singer  an  object  of  Betty's  deeper  interest.  The  lat 
ter  had  seen  in  her  brother's  face  something  which 
had  vastly  surprised  her  and  something  which — had 
it  been  revealed  to  her  before  this  time — would  have 
horrified  Betty  as  well  as  startled  her. 

The  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  was  plainly  and 
frankly  more  concerned  in  Nell  Blossom  than  he 
had  any  right  to  be — unless  he  proposed  to  declare 
himself  the  singer's  suitor.  It  was  a  somewhat 
shocking  thought  for  Betty — no  two  ways  about  it. 
She  had  scarcely  ever  considered  her  brother  in  the 
light  of  a  marrying  man,  and  never  here  at  Can 
yon  Pass !  For  it  to  have  been  suggested  that  Hunt 
would  find  an  object  of  sentimental  interest  in  this 
Western  mining  camp  would  have  completely  con 
founded  Betty  at  an  earlier  date. 

And  Nell  Blossom?  A  singer  in  a  rough  amuse 
ment  place  that  Betty  would  consider  herself 
smirched  if  she  entered?  Yet — and  Betty  was  sur 
prised  to  consider  it — she  was  much  less  amazed  by 
her  brother's  seeming  choice  than  she  presumed 
she  would  be.  Besides,  there  was  a  reason  why 
Betty  Hunt  felt  that  she  might  not  criticise  her 
brother's  course  in  this  affair. 


254        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

When  Nell  Blossom  had  recovered  from  the  ex 
posure  sufficiently  to  go  home  to  Mother  Tubbs,  and 
that  was  not  until  late  in  the  day  following  the  storm, 
Betty  had  gained  from  her  brother  all  he  knew  and 
much  that  he  surmised  regarding  Nell's  association 
with  the  gambler  who  had  returned  to  the  Grub 
Stake  at  so  dramatic  a  moment. 

For  his  part,  Hunt  had  not  the  first  suspicion  that 
Betty  held  any  personal  interest  in  the  man,  Dick 
Beckworth.  But  he  knew  that  his  sister  suspected 
his  love  for  Nell  Blossom. 

Hunt  braced  himself  for  an  argument,  and  a 
serious  one.  Betty  veered  from  Nell  herself  in  a 
most  surprising  manner  and  seemed  to  feel  inter 
est  only  in  Dick  the  Devil. 

"He  is  scarcely  a  person  in  whom  you  would  find 
any  interest  did  you  meet  him,  Betty,"  declared  the 
parson.  "Believe  me,  as  Joe  says,  the  fellow  is 
one  of  those  fungi  attached  to  society  that  would 
much  better  be  lopped  off  than  allowed  to  develop 
and  spread  their  vile  spawn  about." 

"Oh!"  gasped  Betty.  "You  mean  it  would  have 
been  better  had  you  and — and  Mr.  Hurley  found  the 
man's  remains  where  you  found  his  horse?  Oh, 
Ford !" 

"Somehow,"  said  the  parson  gravely,  "I  feel  that 
way." 

"Ford !"  cried  his  sister  vehemently.  "This  is  an 
awful  place !  Let — let  us  go  back  East." 


Understanding  255 

The  parson  shook  his  head  slowly.  "No,  Betty. 
You  may  go  if  you  wish.  I  do  not  blame  you  for 
wanting  to  give  it  up.  There  is  no  reason  why 
you  should  sacrifice  yourself.  But  for  me — Canyon 
Pass  is  mine.  I  will  not  own  to  failure.  Indeed,  my 
work  is  not  without  promise.  I  am  going  to  reach 
the  heart  of  Canyon  Pass  in  some  way,  and  I  will 
keep  on  in  the  quest  as  long  as  I  am  given  strength/' 

It  was  Betty's  last  outbreak  against  conditions. 
Nor  did  her  brother  suspect  for  a  moment  the  reason 
for  the  sudden  renewal  of  her  hatred  of  the  mining 
town. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THREATENING  WEATHER 

JOE  HURLEY  had  taken  a  new  lease  on  cheerful 
ness;  yet  he  scarcely  could  have  explained  why  his 
condition  of  mind  had  so  suddenly  improved.  But 
it  was  not  difficult  for  him  to  put  a  digit  upon  that 
very  moment  of  time  when  this  new  feeling  had 
dawned  in  his  mind. 

It  was  when,  with  Hunt,  he  had  plowed  his  way 
through  the  driving  storm  to  the  nook  under  the 
sheltering  cliff  and  had,  seemingly,  by  instinct,  found 
Betty  Hunt  rather  than  Nell  Blossom. 

Joe  told  himself  that  this  very  fact — that  he  had 
stumbled  upon  Betty  rather  than  Nell — was  a  mira 
cle  of  love. 

All  the  time  they  were  beating  through  the  bliz 
zard,  crossing  the  icy  river  and  climbing  the  steep 
path,  it  seemed  to  Joe  that  Betty  had  been  calling 
to  him.  It  had  been  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  that  at  the  end  of  the  fearful  struggle  he  should 
find  in  his  arms  the  girl  whom  he  loved  and  whose 
peril  had  caused  him  such  anguish. 

And  Betty  did,  quite  of  her  own  volition,  enter 
that  shelter.  It  was  no  mistake,  no  chance  happen- 

256 


Threatening  Weather  257 

ing.  Betty  did  not  think  he  was  her  brother.  "Oh, 
Joe !  I  was  sure  you  would  find  us,"  she  had  said. 

Joe  did  not  overlook  the  confession  Betty  had 
made  that  there  was  a  man  back  East  who  must,  in 
some  way,  hold  her  promise  if  not  her  affections. 
But  Joe  hoped  that  by  now  Betty  had  taken  time 
to  compare  that  unknown  with  himself;  and  that 
he,  Joe,  had  a  chance.  He  decided  to  await  Betty's 
good  pleasure. 

At  least,  Joe  Hurley's  recklessness  was  submerged 
once  more  in  those  better  qualities  that  the  Reverend 
Willett  Ford  Hunt  warmly  liked.  Joe  was  bound  to 
be  the  parson's  chief  assistant  and  backer  in  all  his 
efforts  for  the  betterment  of  Canyon  Pass.  And 
Hunt  faced  now — he  had  seen  it  coming  of  course — 
a  situation  that  must  practically  make  effective  or 
mar  seriously  all  that  he  had  striven  for  since  he  had 
come  West. 

This  emergency  came  up  for  discussion  that  Sat 
urday  night  in  Bill  Judson's  Three  Star  Grocery. 
The  interest  of  the  more  decent  element  of  the  town's 
population  was  centering  in  the  church  and  in  Par 
son  Hunt's  work.  This  was  a  rallying  point  for 
all  progressive  effort  and  determination  in  Canyon 
Pass. 

In  addition,  the  happenings  of  the  past  week 
seemed  to  have  focused  on  Hunt  and  the  good  work 
the  eyes  of  all  those  Passonians  who  possessed  vision 
at  all.  The  almost  tragic  brawl  in  Tolley's  Grub 


258        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Stake  had  aroused  a  great  deal  of  warm  discussion. 
What  did  Canyon  Pass  and  Canyon  County  have  a 
sheriff  for,  if  roughnecks  were  to  go  armed — and 
use  those  arms — just  as  they  had  been  wont  to  do 
in  the  old  days? 

"Why,  we're  plumb  civilized  now.  We  ain't  sup 
posed  to  go  around  wearin'  shootin'-irons  and  plug- 
gin'  holes  in  store-fronts  and  citizens'  hats.  If  a 
bunch  of  cow-punchers  came  riotin1  in  yere  and 
started  to  shoot  up  the  camp,  Sheriff  planey  would 
show  'em  what-for,  blame  sudden." 

"Youbetcha !"  agreed  one  of  the  storekeeper's  lis 
teners.  "That's  a  true  word,  Bill.  If  a  man  means 
to  be  peaceable,  why  go  ironed  at  all?" 

"That's  just  it,"  complained  the  gangling  Smithy. 
"There's  them  that  ain't  for  peace.  That's  why  the 
rest  of  us  hafter  go  heeled." 

Smithy  had  been  waiting  on  customers  with  a 
gun  belted  to  his  waist  ever  since  the  night  he  had 
lost  two  teeth  and  gained  a  black  eye.  Perhaps 
the  evidence  of  this  gun  so  prominently  displayed 
had  saved  the  gangling  clerk  from  much  hectoring 
comment  that  he  might  otherwise  have  suffered 
from  some  of  the  patrons  of  the  Three  Star. 

However,  Smithy  basked  in  a  certain  heroic  light. 
He  had  been  the  first  to  resent  Tolley's  scurrilous 
tale  about  Nell  Blossom,  and  no  matter  what  Joe 
Hurley  and  the  parson  had  done  later,  Smithy's  small 
share  of  glory  could  not  be  ignored.  On  this  very 


Threatening  Weather  259 

afternoon  Nell  herself  had  come  into  the  Three  Star 
Grocery  and  thanked  Smithy  very  sweetly  for  his 
courageously  expressed  opinion  on  her  behalf,  the 
result  of  which  had  rather  marred  what  good  looks 
Smithy  had  ever  been  able  to  lay  claim  to. 

"Layin'  off  whatever  that  boy's  mother  said  about 
him  when  he  was  an  infant,"  drawled  Judson,  "no 
body  ever  could  honestly  say  that  Smithy  should 
take  a  medal  for  good  looks.  Now  he  looks  plumb 
woeful !  I  come  pretty  near  bustin'  out  crying  when 
I  look  at  him." 

"Oh,  it's  not  as  bad  as  all  that,  Bill  Judson,  and 
you  know  it,"  Nell  declared.  "Don't  you  believe 
him,  Smithy.  I  don't  think  it  hurts  your  looks 
any." 

"It  couldn't,"  was  Judson's  grim  comment. 

But  this  missed  Smithy.  He  fairly  gasped  with 
pleasure  at  Nell's  statement. 

"Don't  you  mind  about  it,  Miss  Nell,"  he  said.  "I 
was  goin'  to  have  them  teeth  drawed,  anyway.  I'll 
get  gold  ones.  And  I'd  have  'em  all  knocked  out  if 
'twould  do  you  a  mite  of  good." 

Now  that  the  conclave  between  the  serious-minded 
citizens  had  begun,  even  Smithy  was  listened  to 
with  some  respect.  Besides,  the  gangling  one  put 
forward  an  unmistakably  pregnant  fact. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  Tolley  and  his  gang,  wouldn't 
none  of  us  hafter  tote  guns,"  Smithy  observed. 

"Surest    thing   you    know!"    exclaimed    Collins. 


260         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Run  them  out  o'  town  and  the  decent  men  here 
wouldn't  hafter  develop  saddle-galls  from  wearing 
ten  pound  or  more  of  iron  and  lead  belted  around 
their  waists.  Yes,  sir !  I'm  in  favor  of  reviving  the 
old  vigilance  committee  and  running  these  yere  un 
desirable  citizens  out  into  the  Topaz." 

"What  would  become  of  them?"  put  in  Hunt 
mildly. 

"Let  'em  'root,  hog,  or  die' !"  muttered  Judson. 
"Tolley,  of  course,  has  got  a  stake  yere.  We  can't 
take  a  man's  property  away  from  him.  But  those 
hangers-on  of  his " 

"It  is  a  part  of  Tolley 's  stake  that  is  the  imme 
diate  cause  of  this  discussion,  gentlemen,"  put  in 
the  parson  again.  "Tolley  still  owns  the  place  in 
which  we  hold  our  meetings,  and  Judson's  lease  will 
soon  run  out." 

"Run  Tolley  out,"  said  Smithy,  who  had  now 
enthusiastically  taken  sides  with  the  church  people, 
"and  you  needn't  worry  about  that  shack." 

"Maybe  he  would  sell,"  Hurley  suggested. 

"You  try  to  buy  it,"  and  Judson  grinned.  "His 
eye  teeth  has  done  been  cut  a  far  time  back.  Tol 
ley  ain't  that  kind  of  a  fool.  He  is  wise  to  the 
idea  that  we'd  like  to  buy  that  place.  If  you  paved 
the  shack  floor  with  gold  eagles  Tolley  wouldn't 
bite." 

"He'd  like  to  bust  up  the  church  and  run  the 
parson  out,  if  you  ask  me,"  was  the  comment  of 


Threatening  Weather  261 

another  bystander.  "And  he's  got  a  sharp  side- 
pardner  now,  boys.  I  hear  tell  Dick  the  Devil  is  a- 
hintin'  that  things  will  go  different  in  Canyon  Pass, 
now  that  he's  come  back." 

"How's  that?"  asked  Hurley  quickly,  his  eyes 
sparkling  as  they  always  did  when  his  temper  was 
ruffled.  "What's  Dick  got  to  say  about  it?" 

"He  don't  favor  no  parson.    He  says  so." 

"Looks  to  me,"  drawled  Judson,  "that  it's  corn- 
in'  close  to  a  show-down.  Either  we  folks  that  want 
a  church  and  decency  has  got  to  cave  in,  or  we  got  to 
fight." 

"The  right  kind  of  fighting,  I  hope,"  said  Hunt 
quickly.  "We  must  hold  our  own  without  open 
quarreling." 

"Well,  it  won't  be  peaceful  when  we  try  to  hold 
onto  Tolley's  shack,"  growled  Jib  Collins. 

"Look  yere,"  queried  a  voice  from  the  dark  end 
of  the  store,  "what  have  you  shorthorns  been  doin' 
all  this  time  you've  had  a  parson?  Why  ain't  ye 
built  him  a  church?" 

"Another  county  heard  from!"  snapped  Judson, 
as  old  Steve  Siebert  came  forward.  "Easy  enough 
to  ask  that." 

"Why  don't  ye  answer  it?"  asked  the  old  prospec 
tor.  "I  see  you  have  got  yere  in  Canyon  Pass  a 
blame  good  parson.  I  never  seen  one  I  liked  better. 
I  ain't  heard  him  preach,  and  I  ain't  been  to  your 
meetin's.  But  any  parson  that  can  walk  barehanded 


262         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

up  to  a  gang  like  that  Boss  Tolley  and  his  whelps 
gets  my  vote,  and  he  can  have  everything  I've  got 
when  he  wants  it  for  his  church." 

''Them  that  ain't  got  nawthin'  can  easy  give  it 
away,"  muttered  Judson. 

But  it  was  another  voice  that  ruffled  the  serenity  of 
Steve  Siebert.  On  a  box  by  the  door  the  hooped 
figure  of  Andy  McCann  straightened  up. 

"I  reckon,"  he  sneered,  "that  that  old  gray-backed 
lizard  has  got  him  a  poke  full  o'  nuggets  out  in 
the  Topaz,  and  he's  goin'  to  hand  it  over  for  to  pay 
for  a  church  edifice,"  and  his  senile  giggle  was  more 
maddening  than  the  laughter  of  the  crowd. 

"I  likely  brought  in  full  as  much  as  yonder 
ground-owl  ever  scooped  out  o'  the  ground.  But 
ye  don't  answer  my  question,  neither.  Why  ain't 
you  fellers  made  some  preparation  for  buildin'?" 

"Mr.  Siebert,"  said  the  parson  soothingly,  "the 
men  and  women  interested  in  our  work  have  sub 
scribed  several  hundred  dollars  toward  a  building 
fund.  But  we  are  none  of  us  prepared  to  finance 
such  a  work  as  yet.  We  wish  to  put  up  a  fairly 
good  structure  when  we  get  at  it.  We  cannot  freight 
in  the  frame  and  heavier  timbers.  They  must  be 
cut  and  sawn  on  the  spot.  The  expense  of  getting 
in  a  mill,  aside  from  the  labor,  is  enormous." 

"I  reckon  these  hard-shells  have  tol'  you  that  be 
cause  their  pockets  squeal  ev'ry  time  they  put  their 
hands  in  'em,"  growled  Siebert  "I  know  'em." 


Threatening  Weather  263 

"Look  here,  old-timer,"  said  Joe  Hurley,  sharply, 
"we  figure  it  will  cost  close  to  ten  thousand  dollars 
to  put  up  a  church.  What  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"Put  your  hand  in  your  poke  and  hand  over  ten 
thousand  in  dust,  you  miser 'ble  desert  rat!"  cackled 
Andy  McCann. 

"And  how  much  of  it  can  you  rake  up,  after  pros- 
pectin'  this  country  for  nigh  on  to  thutty  years?" 
was  Steve's  answer,  glowering  at  his  enemy. 

"Wai,  dern  your  hide!  there  was  a  time  when  I 
might  ha'  done  my  share  of  it  without  weepin' 
none,"  muttered  Andy.  "And  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  you " 

"Is  that  so?"  cried  the  other  old  man,  his  face 
ablaze  with  wrath.  "And  how  about  me  bein'  right 
in  sight  once't  of  the  most  promisin'  lead  that  ever 
was  uncovered  in  Canyon  County?" 

"If  it  hadn't  been  for  you,"  rejoined  Andy,  "I 
would  ha'  been  rollin'  in  wealth.  And  you  know 
it — dad  burn  your  hide !" 

"Look  here,"  interjected  Joe  Hurley,  interested 
rather  than  amused.  "If  you  both  tell  the  truth,  you 
must  have  together  struck  a  rich  streak.  Why  didn't 
you  develop  it?  You  were  partners,  weren't  you?" 

"Me,  pardners  with  that  yere!"  croaked  Steve. 

"D'ye  think  for  one  moment,"  demanded  Andy, 
"that  I'd  help  make  that  feller's  fortune?  Not  on 
your  tintype!" 

Here  Judson,  with  enormous  disgust,  broke  into 


264         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

the  discussion.  "Dad  burn  it!"  he  exclaimed,  "this 
ain't  helpin'  none  to  build  the  parson  a  church." 

The  others  were  laughing  uproariously.  Steve 
and  Andy  glared  at  each  other  like  two  angry  dogs 
with  a  strong  fence  between  them.  But  slowly  their 
fierce  expressions  changed.  Hunt,  who  was  watch 
ing  them  with  something  more  than  idle  curiosity, 
saw  that  both  old  men  began  to  look  slyly  at  each 
other  as  they  calmed  down.  The  others  paid  no 
further  attention  to  Steve  and  Andy,  the  flurry  of 
their  verbal  battle  being  over.  But  in  the  rheumy 
eyes  of  Andy  there  grew  a  light  which  seemed  to 
register  some  secret  amusement,  while  Steve's  tooth 
less  grin  displayed  a  humorous  appreciation  of  a 
phase  of  the  argument  that  the  by-standers  in  gen 
eral  quite  failed  to  catch. 

"Now,"  thought  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt, 
"I  wonder,  to  use  one  of  Joe's  favorite  expressions, 
what  those  two  old  fellows  have  up  their  sleeves. 
Perhaps  the  joke  is  on  Canyon  Pass,  rather  than 
on  these  two  queer  old  prospectors.  I  wonder !" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

SEVERAL    CONCLUSIONS 

NELL  BLOSSOM  had  not  gone  back  to  sing  at  Colo 
rado  Brown's  place.  It  was  some  time  before  Hunt 
found  this  out,  and  he  wondered  why  she  had  broken 
her  agreement  with  Colorado,  for  he  knew  she  had 
entirely  recovered  from  the  effects  of  her  adventure 
in  the  storm. 

Had  the  parson  asked  his  sister,  Betty  might  have 
illuminated  his  mind  not  a  little  regarding  this  and 
other  mysteries  about  Nell ;  but  he  was  chary  of  ever 
speaking  of  the  singer  in  other  than  a  general  way 
before  Betty. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  shrank  from  any  argument 
regarding  the  Blossom  of  Canyon  Pass.  He  had 
learned  just  how  sweet  and  innocent  Nell  Blossom 
was.  But  he  did  not  know  how  far  Betty  might 
approve  of  the  younger  girl,  especially  if  he  showed 
any  personal  interest  in  the  latter. 

He  was  firm  in  his  conviction  that  Nell  Blossom 
was  a  being  set  apart  as  his  mate  from  the  beginning ! 
Strange  as  it  might  seem  at  first  view,  Hunt  was 
positive  that  he  and  the  half -tamed  mining-camp 
girl  held  much  in  common.  He  had  found  oppor- 

26.5 


266         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

tunity  to  talk  with  her  of  late — both  at  Mother 
Tubbs'  and  elsewhere — and  he  knew  her  tastes  and 
aspirations  far  better  than  before.  She  had  con 
fided  to  him,  although  with  much  timidity,  some 
of  her  girlish  desires  and  her  conclusions  upon  topics 
which  she  had  thought  seriously  about. 

She  was,  too,  of  the  very  stuff  these  Canyon  Pass 
people  were  made — one  of  themselves.  If  he  got 
Nell  Blossom  for  a  wife  she  would  be  of  greater 
aid  to  him  in  his  work  here  than  any  other  one  per 
son  possibly  could  be.  With  Nell  Blossom  for  his 
very  own,  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt  would 
indeed  have  won  the  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass. 

Hunt  kept  all  this  a  secret  and  said  little  to 
Betty  about  the  cabaret  singer.  Nothing  indeed  that 
gave  her  a  chance  to  tell  him  that  her  eyes  had  seen 
already  most  of  what  he  thought  was  hidden  from 
her,  and  seen  it  in  a  single  glance. 

As  her  brother  sat  beside  the  bed  the  day  of  the 
ice-storm  and  held  Nell  Blossom's  hand,  Betty  saw 
how  it  was  with  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt. 
The  only  matter  that  puzzled  her  at  all  was  Nell's 
possible  attitude.  Unsophisticated  as  the  mining- 
camp  girl  was,  Betty  could  not  know  for  sure  what 
Nell's  feeling  for  the  parson  was. 

But  Betty  might  have  given  Hunt  a  pretty  cor 
rect  explanation  of  why  Nell  did  not  go  back  to  sing 
at  Colorado  Brown's  place.  The  girls  were  to- 


Several  Conclusions  267 

gether  almost  every  day  after  their  adventure  in 
the  storm. 

Betty  did  not  go  to  Mother  Tubbs'.  She  scarcely 
left  the  hotel  at  all  in  the  day  time,  though  going 
out  on  the  first  Sunday  following  their  perilous  ad 
venture  to  attend  church  service. 

But  Nell  came  to  the  Wild  Rose,  and  the  two 
girls  grew  to  know  each  other  better  than  before. 
This  because  they  both  wished  a  closer  understand 
ing.  Nell  had  begun  to  admire  something  about 
Betty  Hunt  besides  her  frocks  and  the  way  she  man 
icured  her  nails.  The  parson's  sister  now  desired 
to  know  Nell  better  for  the  parson's  sake. 

"I'm  sick  to  death,  Betty,  singing  for  those  rough 
necks,"  Nell  had  burst  forth  on  one  occasion.  "I 
used  to  think  it  was  great  to  have  'em  cheer  me  and 
clap  me  off  and  have  'em  throw  money  at  me.  But 
I'm  plumb  sick  of  it." 

"It's  a  great  gift  to  be  able  to  move  people  with 
one's  voice  so." 

"It  ain't  nothing  of  the  kind!"  Nell  declared 
vehemently.  "It's  because  they  ain't  got  no  brains 
— at  least,  what  they've  got  are  addled  with  hootch. 
I've  only  got  just  a  nice,  sweet,  singing  voice.  Them 
fellers  are  so  plumb  ignorant  that  they  hoot  and 
holler  for  me  because  I  please  'em.  I'd  love  to  be 
really  able  to  sing!" 

"I  am  not  so  sure  that  you  cannot  sing,  as  you 
mean  it,"  was  Betty's  sympathetic  rejoinder.  "Merely, 


268         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

you  do  not  sing  worth-while  songs — altogether." 

"I'm  mighty  ashamed  about  singing  that  'This  Is 
No  Place  for  a  Minister's  Son/  "  burst  out  Nell 
suddenly. 

"Why,  I  think  it's  funny,"  and  Betty  laughed. 
"I've  often  heard  Ford  humming  it" 

"Oh !    I— I  sang  it  at  him,  Betty.    I  did !" 

"I  am  quite  sure  it  never  disturbed  Ford  in  the 
least." 

"Well,  no,  I  reckon  not  Nothing  a  girl  like  me 
done " 

"Did!" 

"Did — could  bother  a  man  like  Parson  Hunt" 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  Betty  rejoined,  eye 
ing  the  other  girl  keenly. 

But  Nell  Blossom,  if  she  had  a  secret,  hid  it  suc 
cessfully.  Betty  did  not  miss  the  opportunity,  how 
ever,  of  trying  to  help  her  friend. 

"Suppose  you  learn  some  better  songs — some 
really  worth-while  pieces  ?  I  brought  my  music  with 
me,  although  I  do  not  know  if  I  shall  ever  touch  a 
piano  again."  She  sighed.  "But  I  sometimes  sit 
and  hum  over  my  favorites.  You  read  music  of 
course,  Nell?" 

"I  don't  know  a  note — to  speak  the  name  of  it,  I 
mean,"  confessed  the  singer.  "But  I  never  saw 
the  piece  yet  that  I  couldn't  pick  up  pretty  easy. 
Rosabell  Pickett  says  I'm  a  natural  sight-reader  with 
a  great  ear  for  harmony." 


Several  Conclusions  269 

She  accepted  with  gratitude  the  selections  Betty 
made  from  her  library.  Betty  had  chosen  the  songs 
with  some  little  guile.  That  fact  was  proved  by 
what  occurred  later. 

"Anyway,"  Nell  concluded,  "I  ain't  going  back  to 
Colorado's  place  for  a  while.  I  got  some  money, 
and  Sam's  bringing  his  pay  home  to  Mother  Tubbs 
pretty  reg'lar  now.  I  can  live  for  a  while  without 
singing  for  those  roughnecks,  that's  a  sure  thing!" 

But  Betty  had  her  own  grave  thoughts — thoughts 
that  kept  her  awake  at  night.  Hollow  eyes  and  cer 
tain  twitching  lines  about  her  sensitive  mouth  were 
the  result  of  these  secret  cogitations.  Hunt  noticed 
his  sister's  changed  appearance  but  he  misunderstood 
its  source.  He  feared  that  Betty  found  the  life  at 
Canyon  Pass,  with  winter  coming  on,  too  hard  to 
bear.  Yet  he  saw  that  she  always  cheered  up  when 
Joe  Hurley  ran  in  to  see  them. 

The  Eastern  girl's  trouble  did  not  arise  from  the 
locality  in  which  she  was  forced  to  live ;  it  was  the 
presence  of  one  person  in  the  town  that  caused  her 
such  serious  thoughts.  The  man  who  had  passed 
Nell  Blossom  and  her  in  the  storm,  whose  unexpected 
appearance  had  made  Nell  faint,  had  shocked  Betty 
much  more  deeply  than  he  did  the  singer! 

Without  that  heavy  mustache,  with  his  waving 
hair  cut  more  to  conform  to  Eastern  ideas  of  pro 
priety,  the  girl  visualized  the  fellow  as  she  had  once 
known  Andy  Wilkenson.  He  was  the  man,  thought 


270        The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

of  whom  had  so  worried  Betty's  mind  for  these  long 
months  since  she  had  left  Grandhampton  Hall.  Andy 
Wilkenson!  The  man  she  had  hoped  never  to  see 
or  hear  from  again.  Her  worst  fears  on  coming 
West  were  now  realized.  And  his  reappearance  here 
at  Canyon  Pass  warned  Betty  that  she  could  never 
allow  Joe  Hurley  to  see  just  how  much  she  had 
learned  to  care  for  him. 

She  went  to  church  on  that  next  Sunday  morn 
ing  in  fear  and  trembling.  She  sat  well  forward  as 
usual.  But  she  knew  when  "Dick  Beckworth"  came 
in  and  sat  down  in  one  of  the  rear  seats. 

His  coming  here  surprised  them  all.  Heads  were 
turned,  and  there  was  whispering.  Dick  was  dressed 
in  the  same  flashy  way,  for  he  had  left  a  trunk  at 
the  Grub  Stake  when  he  went  away  in  the  spring. 
He  sat  during  the  sermon  with  a  sneer  on  his  hand 
some  face  and  the  dancing  light  of  the  demon  flicker 
ing  in  his  hard  eyes.  Hunt  usually  met  strangers 
after  the  meeting  with  a  cordial  handclasp.  He  did 
not  approach  Dick  Beckworth. 

Betty  drew  a  veil  across  her  face  before  she  arose 
for  the  benediction.  She  waited  to  return  to  the 
hotel  with  her  brother. 

She  was  the  only  person  in  the  assembly  who  was 
not  amused  by  the  appearance  of  the  two  old  pros 
pectors,  Siebert  and  McCann,  at  the  service.  They 
did  not  come  in  together;  and  when  Andy  McCann 
entered  to  see  Steve  seated  at  one  side,  he  chose  a 


Several  Conclusions  271 

seat  just  as  far  from  the  other  old-timer  as  he  could 
and  on  the  other  side  of  the  house.  Their  scowls 
turned  on  each  other  were  more  significant  than 
words. 

Hunt  did  not  let  Steve  and  Andy  get  away  with 
out  a  personal  word  with  them. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  welcome  you  among  us,  Mr. 
McCann,"  he  said  to  that  individual  when  he  shook 
the  pocket-hunter's  wrinkled  claw. 

"Wai,  it's  all  right,  I  reckon,"  muttered  Andy. 
"In  a  meetin'  you've  got  to  stand  for  most  anybody 
droppin'  in.  But  that  old  rip,"  nodding  toward  the 
distant  Steve,  ''would  look  a  heap  better  'cor din' 
to  my  idee  in  jail  than  at  church." 

"We  must  be  charitable,  Mr.  McCann,"  said  the 
parson,  moving  toward  the  other  prospector. 

Old  Steve  was  quite  as  bitter  in  his  comment. 
But  he  added  something,  too,  that  gave  Hunt  pause. 

"It  seems  a  good  deal  like  old  times.  I  used  to 
go  to  church  reg'lar,  onc't,"  said  Siebert.  "But  I 
miss  something,  parson — I  sure  do." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Hunt  smiling. 

"Let  alone  I  never  expected  to  see  that  old  has- 
been  at  meetin' — an'  I  don't  reckon  he's  come  for 
any  good — I  see  you  don't  look  jest  like  a  preacher 
ought  to  look.  Say,  don't  ministers  dress  different 
no  more  from  other  folks  ?  You  might  be  a  banker 
or  a  gambler  as  far  as  your  coat  goes  to  show." 

The  blunt  criticism  shocked  Hunt  not  a  little.    Up 


272         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

to  this  time  he  had  carefully  eschewed  clerical  dress. 
He  began  to  wonder  if,  after  all,  he  was  not  mak 
ing  a  mistake. 

Dick  Beckworth  was  not  on  the  street  when  the 
parson  and  his  sister  went  back  to  the  hotel.  In  fact 
Dick  had  slipped  out  very  soon  after  the  meeting 
ceased  and  was  then  in  conference  with  Boss  Tol- 
ley  in  the  little  office  at  the  end  of  the  long  bar 
in  the  Grub  Stake. 

"Well,"  said  Tolley,  eagerly,  "did  you  see  her?" 

"Sure  as  sure." 

"Is  it  her?"  demanded  the  dive  keeper,  grinning 
like  a  wolf. 

"It  sure  is.    It's  her  that  was  Betty  Hunt." 

"Dad  burn  it !  And  she  paradin'  'round  here  like 
an  unmarried  woman.  Dick,  we  got  that  parson  on 
the  hip." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

CATASTROPHE 

No  more  snow  or  ice  had  followed  that  first  sharp, 
furious  blizzard;  but  with  the  higher  temperature 
had  come  heavy  rainstorms  which  the  natives  de 
clared  were  quite  unseasonable.  The  rivers  were 
bank  full.  The  lower  end  of  Main  Street  was 
washed  by  the  water  from  both  Forks.  Several  fam 
ilies  had  been  obliged  to  move  into  the  higher  part 
of  the  town. 

But  the  flood  had  not  driven  Mother  Tubbs  and 
her  little  family  out  of  their  home.  The  wise  old 
woman  did  not  know  just  why  Nell  Blossom  sang 
no  more  at  the  dance  hall ;  but  in  her  mind  she  knew 
that  "suthin'  was  workin'  on  that  gal."  Meanwhile 
she  proceeded  to  "work  on"  Sam  as  usual. 

Rocking  on  her  back  porch  with  the  vista  of 
dreary  yards  under  her  eye,  but  the  rugged  beauties 
of  the  Topaz  Range  in  the  distance,  she  philosophized 
as  usual  on  all  things  both  spiritual  and  mundane. 
Sam  was  pottering  about  a  broken  table  that  she  had 
convinced  him  he  must  mend  before  he  left  the 
premises  for  a  stroll  into  the  town,  it  being  Saturday 
afternoon. 

273 


274         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"I  must  say,  too,  that  it  seems  as  peaceful  as  Sun 
day  back  in  Missouri — or  pretty  near,"  Mother 
Tubbs  observed.  "Things  is  changed  yere  in  Can 
yon  Pass.  Ye  must  admit  it,  Sam." 

"Drat  it!"  snarled  her  husband,  sucking  a  thumb 
he  had  just  smashed  with  his  hammer.  "I  admit  it 
all  right.  The  Pass  is  gettin'  plumb  wuthless  to 
live  in.  Psalm  singin',  and  preachin',  and  singin' 
meetings,  and  sech.  Huh !  Parson  wants  me  to  come 
to  Bible  class." 

After  all  he  said  it  with  some  pride.  Sam  had, 
as  he  expressed  it,  "a  sneakin'  likin'  "  for  the  par 
son.  But  he  was  determined  not  to  show  that  this 
was  so  before  Mother  Tubbs. 

"Ain't  you  glad  to  live  less  like  a  savage — more 
decent  and  civilized  like — than  you  useter,  Sam 
Tubbs  ?"  demanded  the  old  woman. 

"I  was  satisfied  as  I  was,"  grunted  her  husband. 
"I  ain't  one  o'  them  that's  always  wantin'  change 
and  somethin'  new.  If  I  had  been,  I'd  picked  me  a 
new  woman  before  now." 

"The  pickin'  ain't  very  good  in  Canyon  Pass,"  re 
joined  Mother  Tubbs  complacently.  "Them  that's 
got  husbands  don't  want  to  exchange.  Twould  be 
like  jumpin'  out  of  the  skillet  onto  the  coals.  Them 
women  that  ain't  got  nary  man  are  well  content,  I 
reckon,  to  get  on  without  one  if  you,  Sam  Tubbs, 
are  the  only  hope  they  got." 

"Huh!" 


Catastrophe  275 

Nell's  sweet,  clear  voice  floated  down  from  the 
upper  chamber.  In  accents  that  caressed,  she  sang 
an  old  song  which  she  had  found  in  Betty  Hunt's 
music,  arranged  for  solo  use. 

"Hear  that  child,  Sam  1"  whispered  the  old  wom 
an,  wiping  her  eyes  when  the  pleading  verse  was 
finished.  "Ain't  that  heaven-born?" 

"Huh!"  said  Sam,  but  in  truth  a  little  doubtfully. 
"I  never  considered  our  Nell  as  bein'  pertic'lar  an 
gelic.  No  ma'am !  Not  before." 

"She's  as  good  as  any  angel,"  declared  Mother 
Tubbs  with  conviction.  "Only  she's  flighty.  Or 
useter  be.  And  if  she'd  just  go  and  sing  them  songs 
at  meetin',  Canyon  Pass  would  learn  for  once  just 
what  good  singin'  is." 

"I  dunno  but  you're  right,  old  woman,"  said  Sam 
softly,  as  the  voice  from  above  took  up  the  song 
again.  "I've  heard  Nell  Blossom  sing  many  a  time 
before;  but  it  never  so  sort  o'  caught  in  muh  cogs 
as  that  song  does.  But  she  can't  sing  them  kind  o' 
tunes  in  Colorado  Brown's  or  the  Grub  Stake." 

"Hush,  Sam!  Don't  mention  it!"  whispered  his 
wife.  "I  hope  to  the  Lord  she  won't  never  hafter 
work  in  them  places  again." 

"Huh!  How's  she  going  to  live?"  asked  the 
startled  Sam. 

"You  leave  it  to  Parson  Hunt,"  declared  Mother 
Tubbs  in  the  same  secretive  way,  "and  Nell  Blos 
som  won't  never  no  more  hafter  sing  for  her  livin'." 


276         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Sam  stared.  His  bald  head  flushed  as  his  eyes 
began  to  twinkle  and  the  knowing  grin  wreathed  his 
sunken  lips.  He  suddenly  burst  into  a  cackle  of  de 
light. 

"D'ye  mean  it?  The  parson?  By  mighty!  So 
he's  willin'  to  go  the  way  of  all  flesh,  is  he?  Nell 
needn't  work  no  more  for  her  livin'  if  she  don't 
want?" 

"You  poor  fool,"  scornfully  said  his  wife,  holding 
up  one  of  his  enormous  blue  yarn  socks  with  a 
gaping  hole  in  the  heel,  "if  the  parson  is  as  hard  on 
his  socks  as  you  are,  Sam  Tubbs,  Nell  will  have 
her  work  cut  out  for  her — sure  as  sure!" 

It  was  the  very  next  night  that  Nell  Blossom 
sang  for  the  first  time  at  the  Canyon  Pass  church 
service.  She  had  been  twice  to  morning  service  be 
fore  this,  coming  in  alone,  refusing  to  sit  near 
Mother  Tubbs  or  Betty,  and  remaining  silent  even 
through  the  hymns.  In  truth,  she  had  never  learned 
those  hymns  that  chanced  to  be  given  out  on  those  oc 
casions.  Rosabell  Pickett  did  yeoman's  service  at 
the  badly  tuned  piano;  but  her  own  voice  had  the 
sweetness  of  a  crow  with  the  carrying  power  of  that 
same  non-soothing  bird.  Rosabell  kept  the  hymns 
going;  but  sometimes  Hunt  could  have  wished  for 
even  Miss  Pelter  of  the  Ditson  Corners'  choir  to 
carry  the  air! 

As  has  been  said,  the  Sunday  evening  service  at 
Tolley's  old  shack  was  not  so  formal  as  the  morn- 


Catastrophe  277 

ing  session.  Hunt  tried  in  the  evening  to  lead  the 
singing  himself.  He  had  managed  through  the  sum 
mer  to  teach  the  young  folks  several  of  the  newer 
and  more  sprightly  songs  out  of  the  collection  he  had 
brought  with  him  from  the  East.  Some  of  the 
rougher  young  men  who  filled  the  rear  benches  in  the 
evening  were  glad  to  make  a  noise  with  something 
besides  their  heavy  boots,  and  they  "went  in"  for  the 
singing  with  gusto. 

On  this  evening  Nell  came  in  with  Mother  Tubbs 
and  Sam,  but  she  sat  down  on  the  front  bench  be 
tween  Betty  and  Rosabell  Pickett.  She  handed 
some  sheets  of  music  to  Rosabell,  and  Betty  recog 
nized  them  with  a  flush  of  pleasure.  It  was  plain 
that  the  accompanist  had  been  prepared  for  Nell's 
new  move. 

"Do  you  think  Mr.  Hunt  would  let  me  sing  a 
song?"  whispered  Nell  to  Betty. 

"Let  you!"  returned  Betty  eagerly.  "He'll  love 
you  for  it." 

Perhaps  the  emphatic  statement  was  made  by  the 
parson's  sister  without  thought  of  how  it  sounded. 
Nell's  flower-like  face  warmed  to  a  flush  that  spread 
from  the  collar  of  her  blouse  to  the  waving  tendrils 
of  hair  under  her  hat  brim.  She  hid  her  face  quick 
ly  from  Betty.  The  latter,  perhaps  somewhat  wick 
edly,  enjoyed  the  other  girl's  confusion.  Her  heart 
had  suddenly  expanded  to  Nell  and  her  brother  Ford. 
If  she  saw  no  happiness  ahead  of  her  in  life,  Betty 


278         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

Hunt  had  begun  to  hope  that  the  Reverend  Willett 
Ford  Hunt  and  the  Canyon  Pass  blossom  would 
realize  all  the  happiness  that  a  loving  pair  could 
compass. 

With  a  whisper  and  a  head  shake  Betty  informed 
the  parson  of  what  he  might  expect  from  Nell  at 
this  meeting.  Her  presence  had  already  rilled  Hunt's 
heart  with  singing.  Now,  before  his  talk  to  the  con 
gregation — it  was  not  a  sermon — he  smiled  at  Nell 
and  sat  down  while  she  sang  the  song  she  had  pre 
pared  and  that  had  so  stirred  the  hearts  of  Mother 
Tubbs  and  Sam  the  day  before. 

Rosabell  Pickett  for  once  got  the  spirit  of  the 
composition.  She  played  the  accompaniment  softly, 
and  she  slurred  over  the  sour  notes  of  the  old  piano. 
When  Nell  stood  up  a  hush  of  expectancy  fell  upon 
the  congregation.  Even  the  boot-scrapings  from 
the  back  benches  were  silenced. 

Never  had  Canyon  Pass  heard  Nell  Blossom  sing 
so  sweetly.  The  girl's  tones  fairly  gripped  the  heart 
strings  of  her  hearers  and  wrung  them.  The  tears 
rolled  down  good  old  Mother  Tubbs'  face.  Sam  sat 
beside  her,  looking  straight  ahead  more  like  a  gar 
goyle  than  ever,  afraid  to  wink  for  fear  the  salt 
drops  would  carom  from  his  bony  cheeks.  Steve 
Siebert  in  his  corner,  and  Andy  McCann  in  his — as 
far  apart  as  the  width  of  the  room  would  allow — 
looked  like  their  burros,  carved  out  of  desert  rock. 
Nothing  seemed  to  move  those  old  fellows.  But  the 


Catastrophe  279 

rest  of  the  congregation — even  the  roughnecks  on 
the  back  seats — were  subdued  when  the  song  was 
done. 

After  the  service  Hunt  apprehended  a  new  note  in 
the  manner  and  speech  of  his  flock.  He  scarcely 
realized  that  his  own  talk  had  been  more  spiritual 
than  usual  because  of  the  emotion  roused  within  him 
by  Nell's  song.  There  was  a  hush  over  the  room. 
The  noisy  fellows  went  out  on  tiptoe.  Voices  were 
subdued.  For  almost  the  first  time  the  atmosphere 
of  this  rough  room  where  they  "held  meetings"  had 
become  that  of  a  real  house  of  worship. 

"Steve  Siebert  is  right,"  the  parson  told  him 
self  not  without  gravity.  "It  is  time  that  I  should 
show  my  own  respect  beyond  peradventure  for  the 
religion  I  preach.  Betty  must  shake  the  mothballs 
out  of  that  coat." 

Lizard  Dan  tooled  his  six  mules  across  the  East 
Fork.  The  water  was  more  than  waist  deep,  and 
the  beasts  swam  for  part  of  the  way,  and  the  in 
side  passengers  sat  on  the  small  of  their  backs  with 
their  boots  up  on  the  cross-straps.  The  driver  urged 
the  team  with  voice  and  whip  up  the  muddy  rise  to 
the  Wild  Rose.  His  desert-stained  face  was  full  of 
wrinkles  of  excitement.  Joe  Hurley,  who  chanced 
to  be  lingering  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  spied  the 
emotion  in  the  bus-driver's  countenance. 

"What's  got  you,  old-timer?"  asked  the  mining 


280         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

man,  strolling  down  to  the  step  below  the  driver. 
"Something  on  the  road  over  from  Crescent  City 
bite  you?" 

"I  got  bit  all  right,"  growled  Lizard  Dan.  He 
stooped  to  put  his  tobacco  stained  lips  close  to  Joe's 
ear.  "The  sheriff  of  Cactus  County  rode  over  on 
the  seat  with  me.  Yeppy!  And  he  dropped  off 
back  yonder  to  talk  to  Sheriff  Blaney." 

"Something  doing?" 

"Youbetcha !  The  Cactus  County  sheriff  was  tell- 
in'  me.  He's  been  after  a  guy  that  turned  a  trick 
last  summer — fore  part  of  the  summer  in  fact — 
'way  out  beyond  Hoskins.  He  was  some  pretty 
shrewd  short-card  tin-horn,  if  you  ask  me." 

"A  gambler?  Anybody  know  him?"  asked  Joe 
quite  idly. 

"I  didn't  get  his  name.  The  sheriff  was  pumpin' 
me  a  lot  about  who  was  new — if  any — in  Canyon 
Pass.  I  told  him,"  and  Dan  grinned  widely,  "that 
'bout  the  newest  citizens  we  had  yere  was  Parson 
Hunt  and  his  sister." 

"You're  some  little  josher,  aren't  you,  Dan?"  said 
Joe,  grimly.  "What  had  the  feller  done?" 

"The  one  the  sheriff's  after?  Cleaned  out  a  sheep 
camp  with  marked  cards  and  then  made  his  get-a 
way  under  a  gun.  Cool  as  the  devil !  Shot  one  of 
those  sheepticks — I  mean  to  say,  a  shepherd.  Never 
did  have  much  use  for  sheep  men " 

"Me  neither,"  admitted  Hurley. 


Catastrophe  281 

"But  they  are  ha'f  human — leastways,  that's  how 
I  look  at  'em,"  pursued  Lizard  Dan.  "They  should 
have  their  chance.  Marked  cards  and  a  gun  is  no 
way  to  win  their  spondulicks.  No,  sir." 

"  What  makes  the  Cactus  County  officer  think  the 
sharper  came  this  way?" 

"Says  he  and  a  posse  follered  him  to  the  Can 
yon  County  line,  up  yonder,  'long  back  in  the  sum 
mer.  They  figgered  he'd  gone  Lamberton  way,  so 
they  swayed  off  and  didn't  come  yere.  Now  some 
thing  new  has  come  up  about  the  feller,  I  take  it, 
and  the  Cactus  County  sheriff  has  come  yere  to  get 
Blaney  to  help  comb  this  part  of  the  territory.  I  told 
him  we  didn't  have  no  loose  gamblers  yere.  They 
all  got  jobs  and  have  held  'em  some  time." 

"Tolley  is  always  picking  up  new  hombres,"  said 
Hurley  thoughtfully.  "I  can't  keep  run  of  all  the 
scabby  customers  he  brings  in  here." 

"But  not  card-sharps,"  said  Lizard  Dan,  shaking 
his  head.  "He  ain't  got  a  new  dealer  in  a  dog's 
age.  You  wouldn't  count  Dick  Beckworth  one. 
It's  just  like  he's  always  been  yere." 

He  waddled  away  with  the  mail  sacks  and  his 
large-bore  gun.  Hurley  found  himself  suddenly 
startled  by  an  entirely  uncalled-for  thought.  Surely 
nothing  Lizard  Dan  had  said  should  have  inspired 
this: 

Dick  Beckworth  had  been  away  from  Canyon 
Pass  from  the  early  springtime  until  recently.  He 


282         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

had  ridden  in  from  the  wilderness  on  the  occasion 
of  the  first  blizzard.  Where  had  the  gambler  been 
during  the  months  he  was  missed  at  the  Grub 
Stake? 

Hurley  was  half  tempted  to  go  to  the  Grub  Stake 
and  make  an  inquiry  or  two,  but  since  that  notable 
night  when  Steve  Siebert  had  held  up  Tolley  and 
his  gang,  Joe  had  seldom  been  inside  the  place.  He 
did,  however,  wander  along  the  now  quiet  street 
toward  the  honkytonk. 

It  was  drawing  toward  evening,  and  a  drizzle  of 
rain,  which  had  threatened  all  day,  swept  across 
the  West  Fork  and  muffled  the  town  almost  in 
stantly  as  in  a  gray  blanket.  The  roar  of  Runaway 
River  in  the  canyon  blew  back  into  Joe's  ears  and 
made  him  deaf  to  most  other  sounds. 

But  as  he  crossed  the  mouth  of  the  alley  beside' 
Tolley's  place  he  heard  a  sharp  "Hist !"  He  turned 
to  look.  A  girl,  wrapped  in  a  fluttering  cloak,  stood 
there,  dimly  revealed  in  the  thicker  darkness  of  the 
alley. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  demanded  the  min 
ing  man. 

"Mr.  Hurley!" 

"Great  saltpeter !  what's  the  matter,  Rosy?" 

"Hush!  Shet  your  yawp!"  warned  the  piano 
player.  "Want  to  get  me  into  trouble?" 

"Not  a  bit.    What's  up?" 


Catastrophe  283 

"I  don't  know.  But  it's  something — something 
bad." 

"Bad?    About  whom?" 

"Parson  Hunt  and  his  sister  Betty." 

"Betty  Hunt?"  muttered  the  mining  man  with  an 
emphasis  that  would  have  told  a  woman  of  much 
less  discernment  than  Rosabell  Pickett  all  that  was 
necessary. 

"Yeppy.  You  like  her,  Joe  Hurley.  You  want 
to  look  out  for  her.  Somebody  has  got  to.  That 
Dick  Beckworth " 

"Dick  the  Devil?" 

"You  said  it !    He's  got  something  on  her." 

"He's  got  something  on  Betty  Hunt?    Never!" 

"No  use  lay  in'  your  hand  on  your  gun  butt.  It 
needs  something  besides  that.  When  fire's  touched 
to  the  end  of  the  fuse,  no  use  tryin'  to  stamp  on  the 
ashes.  It  is  burning  toward  the  powder  barrel.  The 
thing's  started.  Dick's  told  it  about  her " 

"Told  what?"  asked  Hurley,  almost  shaking  the 
girl. 

"That  she  was  married  back  East,  long  before 
she  come  out  here,  and  is  posing  here  as  an  unmar 
ried  woman.  He  says  he  knows  the  man  that  was 
married  to  her." 

Hurley  was  stricken  dumb  for  the  moment.  Yet 
recovery  was  swift.  He  stammered: 

"She — she  might.  It's  no  crime.  She — she  might 
have  got  a  divorce  and  taken  her  maiden  name  again, 


284         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

if  it's  true.  But  I  wouldn't  take  Dick  the  Devil's 
word  as  to  the  color  of  the  blue  sky." 

"He's  got  a  paper  to  prove  it.  I  seen  him  show 
it  to  Boss  Tolley.  I  run  to  get  you.  I  saw  you  at 
the  Wild  Rose.  I  figger  you  are  the  one  to  tell 
the  parson." 

"And  who's  to  tell  Betty?"  Joe  inquired.  "I— 
I— 

"Oh!  What's  that?"  exclaimed  Rosabell,  shrink 
ing  away.  "I — I  thought  it  was  thunder." 

A  muttering  sound  grew  in  Hurley's  hearing, 
but  he  paid  little  attention  to  it  at  first.  Was  it  this 
Betty  had  meant  all  the  time,  when  she  had  kept  him 
at  arm's  length?  When  she  had  told  him  that  there 
was  somebody  back  East  who,  at  least,  had  her 
promise  ? 

Then  the  air  quaked  as  though  there  had  been  a 
volcanic  upheaval  within  the  immediate  district  of 
Canyon  Pass.  Rosabell  shrieked  and  ran  back  into 
the  gloom,  disappearing  toward  the  rear  door  of  the 
Grub  Stake.  Joe  ran  out  into  the  street,  seeing 
other  men  coming  from  the  shops  and  saloons. 

His  gaze  by  chance  was  turned  upon  the  wagon 
track  down  the  slope  beyond  the  West  Fork.  He 
saw  a  flaming  patch  of  white  there.  It  came  down 
the  wagon  track  with  terrific  speed.  In  a  moment 
he  realized  that  it  was  a  white  pony  and  rider. 

Lashing  the  steed  the  rider  forced  it  into  the  West 
Fork.  The  animal  had  to  swim  for  it.  It  seemed 


Catastrophe  285 

as  though  the  stream  had  filled  terrifically  within 
the  last  few  minutes. 

Out  of  the  flood  scrambled  the  pony.  It  was  not 
until  then  that  anybody  recognized  Nell  Blossom  and 
her  cream-colored  mount.  She  urged  the  horse  up 
into  the  town  and  they  heard  her  clear  voice  rising 
above  the  sullen  thunder  of  the  three  rivers : 

"The  Overhang!  The  Overhang!  It's  down — 
it's  filled  the  canyon !  Runaway  River  is  stoppered 
like  with  a  cork  in  the  neck  of  a  bottle.  The  flood 
is  coming!" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

HIS  LAST  CARD 

HUNT  lingered  in  his  sister's  room  after  Joe  Hur 
ley  had  left  them.  They  were  talking  when  Maria 
came  up  to  take  away  the  tea  things.  The  Mexican 
woman  was  greatly  excited. 

"Those  bad  men!  She  get  it  now — in  the  neck 
you  say,  si?  My  goodness,  yes!  He  no  run  you 
out  of  town  lak'  he  say,  Sefior  Hunt." 

"Who  is  this  who  wants  to  run  me  out?"  asked 
Hunt  good-naturedly.  "I  must  be  getting  awfully 
unpopular  in  some  quarters." 

"Those  bad  man  at  Tolley's  Grub  Stake.  Ah, 
yes,  Sefior!  She  hate  you — my  goodness,  yes!" 

Betty  began  to  be  troubled — as  she  always  was 
when  she  heard  her  brother's  peace  threatened. 

"Have  you  heard  something  new,  Maria?"  she 
asked  the  woman. 

"Cholo,  he  hear.  He  come  just  now  from  the 
sheriff.  A  man  come  to  town  and  he  say  he  want 
those  bad  man." 

"Wl^at  bad  man  ?     Not  my  brother  ?"  cried  Betty. 

"Madre  de  Dios!  Is  the  Sefior  Hunt  bad?" 
gasped  Maria.  "Why,  it  is  Dick  the  Deevil  I  say." 

286 


His  Last  Card  287 

"Ah-ha P  muttered  Hunt,  with  more  interest  than 
surprise.  He  did  not  look  at  Betty.  "This  man 
has  something  against  Dick  Beckworth?" 

"Cholo  whisper  to  me,  jus'  now,  before  I  come  up 
here,  that  the  sheriff  weel  arres'  Dick  the  Deevil. 
For  robbery  and  swindle,  you  say.  Si!" 

"This  is  news!"  ejaculated  Hunt,  putting  on  his 
coat  and  hat.  "I  must  go  down  and  get  the  particu 
lars." 

"Oh,  Ford!" 

What  Betty  might  have  said — how  much  she 
might  have  betrayed  of  her  secret  to  her  brother  at 
that  moment — will  never  be  known.  Before  he 
could  turn  to  look  at  her  anguished  face  the  house 
shook,  and  an  atmospheric  tremor  seemed  to  pass 
over  the  town.  An  "airquake"  was  the  better  term 
for  it!  And  with  it  they  heard  a  continuous  thun 
dering  roar  that  seemed  to  mingle  with,  yet  almost 
drown,  the  chorus  of  the  rivers  which  had  been  a 
monotone  in  their  ears  all  day. 

Maria  screamed  and  flew  out  of  the  room.  Hunt 
exclaimed : 

"Something's  blown  up  at  one  of  the  mines,  per 
haps.  But  Joe  is  all  right.  He  could  not  have  got 
far  away  from  the  hotel." 

It  was  not  until  he  ran  down  and  reached  the  street 
that  he  learned  the  truth.  Nell  had  pulled  in  her 
wet  and  exhausted  pony  before  the  hotel  and  was 


288         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

surrounded  by  the  excited  populace.  Joe  was  with 
her,  and  Hunt,  seeing  both  safe,  was  relieved. 

The  parson  listened  to  her  story  with  amazement 
and  some  of  the  dread  that  the  older  inhabitants  of 
Canyon  Pass  felt.  Something  like  this  had  hap 
pened  twenty  years  before.  She  had  seen  a  great 
landslide — a  large  part  of  the  Overhang  she  thought 
— fall  into  the  canyon.  Already  the  rivers  were 
backing  up.  Filled  as  they  were  by  the  recent  un 
seasonable  rains,  the  flood,  if  the  canyon  bed  was 
really  closed  by  the  landslide,  would  soon  rise  into 
the  town. 

Hunt  and  Hurley  joined  a  party  that  launched  a 
big  batteau  to  go  down  the  Runaway  to  the  first 
turn  in  the  canyon  wall  to  see  just  what  the  danger 
was.  Most  of  the  other  inhabitants  of  Canyon  Pass 
were  crowding  into  Main  Street.  It  might  be  that 
all  would  have  to  get  back  to  the  headlands  where 
the  mines  were  in  order  to  escape  the  flood. 

Betty,  alone  in  her  room  in  the  hotel,  saw  the 
people  milling  about  below  and  could  only  guess 
what  it  meant.  She  did  not  dare  go  down  to  ask 
about  the  catastrophe,  and  Maria  did  not  return. 
But  as  she  sat  there,  trembling  not  altogether  from 
fear  of  what  might  happen  to  the  town,  she  saw 
the  knob  of  her  door  turn  slowly.  There  was  some 
body  in  the  hall — somebody  coming  in! 

In  her  terror — terror  of  she  knew  not  what — the 
girl  could  not  move.  She  could  only  watch  the  frail 


His  Last  Card  289 

door  sag  slowly  open.  She  saw  a  hand  with  a 
sparkling  diamond  upon  it.  But  it  was  a  man's 
hand.  A  shoulder  appeared  as  the  door  was  thrust 
farther  inward. 

Then  she  saw  the  face  of  the  intruder. 

"Andy  Wilkenson!" 

Betty  did  not  know  that  her  voice  was  audible. 
But  as  the  man  slid  in  with  the  sleekness  of  a  cat 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him,  he  whispered: 

"So  you  know  me  all  right,  do  you?  Then  that 
makes  it  easier.  You've  got  to  hide  me,  Betty. 
They  are  after  me.  I  got  out  of  the  Grub  Stake 
through  a  window — just  in  time." 

He  laughed.  There  was  a  reckless  gayety  in  his 
manner  that  was  forced;  but  it  seemed  to  Betty 
more  terrible  than  if  he  had  shown  fear. 

"You  wouldn't  want  them  to  get  your  husband, 
would  you,  honey?"  he  went  on,  his  back  against 
the  door,  his  eyes  glittering.  "And  there's  going  to 
be  high  water.  I  can't  get  away  at  once.  I've  got 
to  hide.  You'll  have  to  keep  me  here."  He 
chuckled.  "A  girl  wouldn't  give  her  hubby  up  to 
the  sheriff,  would  she?  I " 

"Go  away!"  she  gasped. 

"Not  a  chance !"  exclaimed  Dick  lightly.  "That 
sheriff  will  comb  the  town.  But  he  will  never  come 
into  your  bedroom,  honey.  And  I'm  going  to  stay 
here  till  the  flurry  is  over." 

He  took  a  step  into  the  room.     Betty  shrank  from 


290         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

him.  Her  eyes  were  now  aflame — and  there  was 
something  besides  fear  in  them. 

"I  will  give  you  time  to  get  out,  Andy  Wilken- 
son,"  she  said  hoarsely.  "But  no  more.  All  I  have 
to  do  is  to  raise  this  window  and  scream " 

"Dare  to!"  he  snapped.  "I'll  stay  right  here. 
You're  my  wife " 

"Nobody  will  believe  that  if  I  deny  it!"  she  ex 
claimed. 

"So  you  think  I  can't  prove  it?"  He  laughed 
again.  "I  know  that  you  would  deny  it  if  you  could. 
I  know  that  you  even  tore  up  the  marriage  certifi 
cate  that  old  minister  gave  you.  But  I  went  back 
to  him  and  got  a  copy.  And  I  have  got  a  copy  of 
the  license  record,  and  all.  Think  I'm  a  fool?  You 
may  have  fooled  me  about  your  aunt's  money;  but 
one  never  knows  when  such  a  moment  as  this  may 
come.  If  you  give  me  up  to  the  sheriff,  I'll  tell  'em 
all  just  who  and  what  you  are.  Mrs.  Andy  Wilken- 
son !  Sounds  good,  don't  it  ?  And  'Andy  Wilken- 
son'  is  Dick  Beckworth.  Being  married  under  an 
assumed  name  don't  make  the  tie  any  less  binding, 
Betty.  You  are  married  to  me  hard  and  fast,  and 
I'm  going  to  turn  the  fact  to  good  account.  Don't 
doubt  it!" 

"I — I'll  call  my  brother,"  said  Betty  weakly. 

"I  bet  he  doesn't  know,  either.  Nor  that  Joe  Hur 
ley  you've  been  chumming  around  with,"  and  Dick 
chuckled  hugely.  "Oh,  I've  got  you,  my  girl.  You 


His  Last  Card  291 

had  the  chance  to  call  me,  and  call  me  good,  that 
time.  But  it's  my  turn  now.  You  are  going  to 
hide  me  here,  and  then  help  me  get  away.  I  know 
your  breed.  You'd  die  rather  than  let  the  story  of 
our  marriage  get  to  the  people  of  Canyon  Pass/' 

The  girl  sat  huddled  in  the  chair  by  the  window. 
She  stared  at  him  with  an  intensity  of  horror  that 
seemed  to  have  paralyzed  her  whole  body.  And 
what  he  said — his  final  declaration — she  knew  was 
true. 

She  would  much  rather  die  than  have  it  revealed 
to  all  Canyon  Pass  that  Dick  the  Devil  was  the  dis 
carded  husband  of  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt's 
sister ! 

The  smile  with  which  Dick  watched  the  agonized 
girl  marked  the  cruelty  that  was  the  underlying  trait 
of  his  whole  character.  He  knew  she  suffered.  He 
knew  how  she  suffered  now.  And  he  exulted  in  it. 

But  he  was,  too,  fearful  for  his  own  safety.  The 
crime  he  had  committed  miles  away  across  the  sheep 
range,  and  which  had  set  the  sheriff  on  his  track, 
was  a  most  despicable  one.  It  was,  too,  in  this 
community  a  crime  that  might  easily  excite  the  pas 
sions  of  the  rougher  element.  Men  had  been  lynched 
for  much  less  than  Dick  Beckworth's  crime ! 

With  night  coming  on,  the  waters  about  the  town 
rising,  and  no  means  for  quick  egress  before  morn 
ing  at  least,  Dick  the  Devil  realized  that  his  only 
hope  lay  with  this  tortured  girl.  Aside  from  the 


292         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

satisfaction  it  gave  him  to  make  her  shield  him,  he 
was  quite  aware  that  no  better  place  than  Betty 
Hunt's  room  could  be  imagined  in  which  he  might 
hide  from  the  officers. 

"There's  a  closet,"  he  said  finally,  seeing  the  small 
door  in  the  partition.  "Put  me  in  that.  You  can 
let  your  brother  in  if  you  like — or  Joe  Hurley." 
He  sneered  at  her.  "They'll  never  believe  the  proper 
Betty  Hunt  has  a  man  hidden  in  her  room.  What's 
that?" 

He  hissed  the  question,  grabbing  the  handle  of 
the  closet  door,  and  looked  back  at  the  one  opening 
from  the  hall.  There  was  a  light  step  outside;  the 
door-knob  rattled. 

"Quick!"  breathed  Dick.  "Don't  say  a 
word " 

He  tried  to  open  the  closet  door.  Although  it 
was  a  spring  latch,  it  was  likewise  locked.  All 
Betty's  little  valuables  were  in  the  closet,  and  she 
had  the  key. 

"The  key!"  shrilled  the  man.  "You  fool!  Do 
you  want  me  to  give  the  thing  away?  As  sure  as 
you  are  alive  I'll  tell  them  you're  my  wife.  Quick !" 

Betty  did  not  move.  She  shook  her  head.  The 
door-knob  was  again  rattled.  A  muffled  voice  cried : 

"Betty!" 

The  knob  turned — as  it  had  before,  slowly,  hesi 
tatingly.  The  door  was  pushed  inward.  Dick  the 
Devil  snatched  a  pistol  from  its  sling  under  his  left 


His  Last  Card  293 

armpit,  with  the  motion  of  a  rattlesnake  about  to 
strike. 

Nell  Blossom  stepped  into  the  room  and  closed 
the  door  swiftly  behind  her.  She  had  seen  Betty. 
Her  cry  of  "Betty!  what's  happened?"  was  an 
swered  by  a  sigh  from  Dick  of  such  relief  that  it 
seemed  like  a  sob. 

Alert  as  she  could  be,  Nell  wheeled  to  look  at 
the  man.  Although  there  was  no  light  in  the  room 
and  the  evening  was  drawing  on,  the  singer  knew 
that  half-crouching  figure  at  first  glance.  She  saw, 
too,  the  flash  of  the  weapon  in  the  gambler's  hand. 

"Dick  Beckworth!  I  might  have  known  you'd 
come  sneaking  to  a  girl's  room  to  hide,"  said  Nell, 
her  voice  quite  unshaken.  "Put  away  that  gun. 
I'm  not  the  sheriff." 

Dick  was  silent.  But  he  had  the  grace  to  put 
away  his  gun.  Nell  said  to  Betty : 

"Has  he  scared  you,  honey?  Don't  you  mind. 
Dick  the  Devil  has  got  his  comeupance  this  time,  I 
reckon.  The  minute  he  steps  out  of  this  house 
they'll  nab  him.  Somebody  saw  him  sneak  in  by 
the  back  way.  But  nobody  thought  of  his  daring 
to  come  into  your  room.  Come  on,  you,  get  out! 
Take  your  miserable  carcass  off  to  some  other  part 
of  the  house." 

"Oh,  Nell !"  breathed  Betty. 

"Don't  you  be  afraid,  honey,"  said  the  cabaret 
singer  again.  "This  rascal  knows  me,  I  reckon. 


294         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

It's  too  bad  he  wasn't  killed — like  I  thought  he  was 
— back  last  spring  when  I  was  fool  enough  to  be 
caught  by  his  sleek  ways  and  talk.  Oh,  yes!  I 
played  the  fool.  And  I  come  pretty  near  believing 
since  that  time  that  there  wasn't  any  decent  men 
in  the  world.  All  because  of  that  whelp." 

For  once  Dick  Beckworth  had  nothing  to  say. 
At  another  time  he  might  have  flouted  the  girl.  But 
the  moment  was  not  propitious.  He  stood  and 
glared  from  Nell  to  Betty,  and  back  again ;  but  said 
nothing. 

"Come !  Beat  it !"  said  Nell  harshly.  "Don't  you 
hear  me?" 

"I  am  going  to  remain  here,"  Dick  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "Right  here." 

"Not  much!"  Nell  wheeled  to  open  the  door. 
"I'll  call  'em  up.  They  are  watching  for  you  be 
low." 

"Nell !"  gasped  Betty. 

"You  better  speak  for  me,"  sneered  Dick.  "I 
don't  reckon  that  you  two  girls  will  turn  me  over 
to  the  sheriff.  Don't  forget,  Nellie,  that  once  I  was 
your  honey-boy." 

The  mining-camp  girl's  whole  person  seemed  to 
fire  under  this  spur.  Her  face  blazed.  She  was 
tense  with  wrath — wrath  that  she  could  not  for  the 
moment  audibly  express. 

But  when  she  did  speak  her  voice  was  as  hard  as 
ice  and  her  accents  .as  cold; 


His  Last  Card  295 

"Dick  Beckworth,  you  get  out  of  here!    March!" 

"Not  much." 

Nell  had  been  riding.  She  never  went  abroad 
on  horseback  without  wearing  her  belt  and  gun. 
The  latter  flashed  into  her  hand  too  quickly  for 
Dick  to  have  again  produced  his  weapon,  had  he  so 
desired. 

"Put  'em  up!"  was  Nell's  concise  command. 
"Don't  flutter  a  finger  wrong.  I  been  thinking  for 
months  that  I  saw  you  go  over  that  cliff  to  your 
death.  Maybe  I  worried  some  over  being  the  pos 
sible  cause  of  your  taking  that  drop.  But  I  feel  a 
whole  lot  different  about  you  now,  Dick  Beckworth. 
Keep  your  hands  up  and  march  out  of  this  room." 

The  man,  sneering,  his  countenance  torn  with  emo 
tion,  his  eyes  as  glittering  as  those  of  an  angered 
serpent,  came  forward  into  the  middle  of  the  room 
again.  He  was  staring  at  Betty  rather  than  at 
Nell.  He  said  to  the  former: 

"You  going  to  let  me  go  out,  Betty?" 

-Oh!     Oh!     I " 

"Don't  mind  even  to  answer  him — the  dog!"  Nell 
muttered.  "I  swear,  after  this,  I  would  not  lift  a 
hand  to  stop  the  boys  from  stringing  him  up." 

"Is  that  so?"  queried  Dick,  turning  to  her  again. 
"You  think  you've  got  things  your  own  way,  don't 
you?  I'll  show  you.  Betty!  tell  this  girl  what  and 
who  I  am  and  why  I  am  not  going  to  leave  this 


296         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

room.  Tell  her,  my  dear,  why  you  can't  bear  to 
see  me  given  up  to  the  sheriff." 

"You  dog!"  ejaculated  Nell. 

"Tell  her,  Betty,"  commanded  Dick,  but  without 
raising  his  voice. 

The  parson's  sister,  fairly  writhing  in  her  chair, 
put  up  her  clasped  hands  to  Nell.  She  whispered 
brokenly : 

"Don't — don't  send  him  out.  Don't  tell,  Nell. 
I— I  couldn't  bear  it!" 

"In  the  name  of  common  sense,"  queried  the 
singer,  "what  do  you  mean?  This  fellow's  fright 
ened  you  out  of  your  wits." 

"No,  no!     For  my  sake * 

"You're  crazy.  He  can't  hurt  you.  I  have  him 
under  my  gun.  If  he  makes  a  move " 

"Betty!"  shot  in  Dick. 

"For  Ford's  sake  let  him  stay!"  begged  Betty, 
and  sank  back  in  her  chair  again,  almost  at  the  point 
of  collapse. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

CLEARING   SKIES 

BETTY  HUNT  had,  after  all,  retained  her  self- 
possession  in  a  considerable  degree  throughout  this 
trying  interview.  Dick  Beckworth's  appearance 
had  startled  her;  but  already  she  had  schooled  her 
mind  to  expecting  an  interview  with  him. 

Really,  the  coming  of  Nell  Blossom  and  what 
had  followed  her  entrance  had  disturbed  Betty  more 
than  Dick's  appearance.  But  now  she  had  got  a 
clutch  again  upon  her  mental  processes  and  at  this 
moment,  when  Dick  was  about  to  reveal  to  the 
cabaret  singer  the  fact  that  Betty  was  his  wife,  the 
Eastern  girl  apprehended  and  seized  upon  the  plea 
she  believed  would,  more  than  any  other,  cause  Nell 
to  let  the  villain  remain  without  question. 

For,  with  the  hotel  surrounded  and  the  officers 
searching  for  Dick,  it  was  probable  that  the  mo 
ment  he  stepped  out  of  the  room  he  would  be  caught. 
So  Betty  cried: 

"For  Ford's  sake  let  him  stay!" 

It  was,  after  all,  a  shot  in  the  dark.  Betty  had 
not  been  sure  up  to  this  moment  that  Nell  really  felt 
toward  the  parson  as  his  sister  knew  Hunt  felt  to- 

297 


298         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

ward  Nell.  But  she  was  in  a  desperate  plight. 
Betty  could  not  bear  to  have  even  her  girl  friend 
know  of  her  relation  to  Dick  Beckworth,  not  as  Dick 
would  tell  it!  And  if  the  villain  spread  the  tale  as 
he  promised,  Betty  knew  that  her  brother's  work 
might  be  greatly  injured  even  in  such  a  community 
as  Canyon  Pass. 

For  after  all,  although  the  mining  town  was  not 
like  Ditson  Corners,  human  nature  is  about  the  same 
everywhere.  Betty  had  done  nothing  disgraceful 
in  marrying  Dick  Beckworth  and  leaving  him  so 
abruptly.  But  for  hiding  the  unfortunate  alliance 
and  posing  here  as  an  unmarried  girl,  the  tongue  of 
gossip  would  undoubtedly  drag  both  her  own  name 
and  Ford's  through  the  mire  of  half-truths  and  sup 
positions. 

If  Nell  loved  Ford  and  thought  that  Dick  might 
reveal  something  that  would  injure  the  parson,  Betty 
hoped  the  singer  would  relent.  Afterward  she  could 
in  her  own  way  explain  to  Nell. 

The  latter  stared  now  at  Betty;  but  Dick  was 
quite  in  the  line  of  her  gun  and  her  hand  did  not 
tremble. 

"You — you  mean  he's  got  something  on  the  par 
son?"  she  asked, 

Dick  grinned.  Betty  tried  to  speak.  Before  an 
other  word  could  be  said,  however,  there  was  a 
sudden  outbreak  of  sound  from  below  and  loud 
voices  on  the  stair. 


Clearing  Skies  299 

"Betty!"  shouted  Joe  Hurley's  voice. 

"Is  Nell  Blossom  there?"  called  Hunt 

Both  young  men  were  tramping  up  to  this  very 
room.  They  would  be  here  in  thirty  seconds. 

Betty  came  to  her  feet  as  though  galvanized  by 
an  electric  shock.  She  fumbled  in  her  bosom  and 
drew  forth  the  key  of  the  closet  door.  She  extended 
it  to  Dick. 

"Let  him — let  him  hide !"  she  gasped. 

Nell  lowered  her  gun.  Dick  grabbed  the  key, 
the  grin  on  his  face  demoniac,  and  leaped  across  the 
floor  on  the  balls  of  his  feet.  In  a  flash  he  had  the 
door  open,  was  inside,  the  door  closed  and  the  spring 
lock  snapped.  Nell  thrust  the  gun  back  into  its  hol 
ster.  Came  a  thunderous  knock  upon  the  door. 

"Girls!"  shouted  Hunt,  "may  we  come  in?" 

Betty  and  Nell  looked  at  each  other.  The  latter 
sat  down  on  the  bed.  Betty  dropped  back  into  her 
chair. 

"Of  course  you  may  come  in,  Ford,"  she  said  in 
a  voice  that,  if  not  unshaken,  seemed  calm  to  the  ears 
of  the  men. 

Hunt  and  Hurley,  both  splashed  with  mud,  ap 
peared  at  the  open  door. 

"Pack  a  bag,  Betty,"  said  her  brother.  "The 
water  is  backing  up  into  the  town,  and  although  we 
don't  believe  it  will  rise  high,  it  may  come  in  over 
the  lower  floor.  It  won't  be  pleasant  here  to-night. 
Joe  suggests  that  we  take  you  both  up  to  his  office 


300         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

at  the  Great  Hope.  That  can  be  made  comfortable 
for  you  until  we  see  just  how  bad  a  time  Canyon 
Pass  is  in  for." 

"If  you  say  so,"  said  Betty  in  a  low  voice.  "Will 
you  go,  Nell?" 

"Sure,"  declared  the  other  girl. 

She  thought  that  probably  anything  was  better 
for  Betty  than  to  remain  here.  In  ten  minutes 
they  set  forth,  hurrying  down  and  out  of  the  hotel. 
Sheriff  Blaney,  and  a  red-faced  man  whom  Betty 
remembered  having  seen  before  on  the  Hoskins  trail 
hunting  a  fugitive,  was  on  the  porch. 

"Denied  funny  where  that  Dick  Beck  worth  has 
holed  up,"  Blaney  was  saying.  "But  he  can't  get 
out  of  town  to-night,  that's  sure." 

That  was  a  night  scarcely  to  be  forgotten  in  the 
annals  of  Canyon  Pass.  The  people  streamed  up 
the  muddy  roads  on  to  the  highlands  all  night  long 
while  the  waters  rose  higher  and  higher.  They 
could  hear  toward  morning  the  crashing  of  under 
mined  buildings,  but  not  until  dawn  did  the  fugitives 
learn  all  the  damage  of  the  flood. 

Then,  just  before  sunrise,  there  sounded  several 
tremendous  explosions  from  below,  in  the  canyon, 
Joe  Hurley  and  a  gang  of  engineers  had  been  down 
there  all  night,  and  the  several  charges  of  dynamite 
they  put  in  at  the  barrier  across  the  river  brought 
the  relief  that  had  been  hoped.  In  an  hour  a  way 


Clearing  Skies  301 

was  burst  through  the  wall  of  fallen  debris  and  the 
mad  waters  tore  a  passage  to  freedom. 

The  flood  began  to  recede,  and  by  the  time  the 
expedition  got  back  from  the  canyon  in  the  bat- 
teau,  the  mud  hole  of  Main  Street  could  be  seen 
again  from  the  site  of  the  Great  Hope.  Joe  Hurley 
looked  grave,  however,  when  he  rejoined  his  friends 
in  the  little  shack  of  an  office. 

"It's  done  a  sight  of  damage,"  the  mining  man 
said.  "A  lot  of  folks  will  have  to  double  up  till 
new  shacks  can  be  built.  The  church — Tolley's  old 
place — is  standing,  Willie." 

"I  see  it  is,"  returned  the  parson.  "But  I  miss 
some  buildings " 

"You  miss  one  in  particular,"  said  his  friend 
quickly.  "I  don't  know  but  you  and  Betty  are  chief 
among  the  flood  sufferers." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Joe?"  Betty  asked  quickly. 

"The  hotel.  It  was  undermined  and  is  in  ruins — 
looks  like  it  had  been  rammed.  Oh!"  as  he  saw 
Betty  pale,  "nobody  was  hurt.  Cholo  Sam  and 
Maria  are  safe.  Fact  is,  not  a  life  lost  as  far  as 
we  know.  It  might  have  been  a  whole  lot  worse. 
We  had  great  luck." 

"Great  luck!"  murmured  Betty,  looking  at  Nell, 
whose  face  likewise  showed  a  strange  anxiety. 

"Talking  about  luck,"  added  Hurley  suddenly. 
"What  do  you  know  about  old  Steve  and  Andy? 
They've  been  out  all  night." 


302         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Hunt.  "They  haven't 
gone  back  to  the  desert?" 

"Not  on  your  life.  They've  been  prospecting 
where  they  prospected  twenty  years  ago.  Or  that's 
what  I  figger.  Just  at  dawn,  after  we  let  off  those 
shots  that  started  the  dam-busting,  I  spied  'em  prowl 
ing  around  up  there  on  the  side  of  the  canyon.  Reck 
less  as  kids,  those  old  tykes  are.  Might  another 
slip  come  'most  any  time." 

"Oh!"  said  Betty,  "I  hope  you  did  not  leave  them 
in  danger,  Joe." 

"If  they  were,  I  couldn't  help  'em,"  Hurley  re 
plied.  "You  can't  influence  those  old  desert  rats 
any  more  than  you  could  lead  an  iron  horse  to 
drink.  No,  sir!  Steve  and  Andy  were  up  there 
on  a  shelf  that  was  uncovered  by  the  'last  slip, 
a-holding  hands  and  ghost-dancing  like  a  couple  of 
Piute  Injuns.  Acted  plumb  crazy. 

"They  must  have  swum  the  West  Fork  to  get 
there.  And  I  bet  they  didn't  go  together.  But 
when  they  got  up  there  and  saw  the  way  open " 

"To  what?"  interrupted  Nell.  "You  haven't  told 
us  what  they  found." 

"That's  so,"  chuckled  Joe.  "They've  found 
something  all  right.  I  reckon  Steve  and  Andy  can't 
be  fooled  when  it  comes  to  'col^r.'  They  certainly 
have  made  a  ten-strike.  Steve  shouted  down  to  me 
that  the  slip  had  uncovered  the  mother  lode.  Of 
course,  they  are  claiming  everything  in  sight.  Got 


Clearing  Skies  303 

their  claims  staked  out,  and  if  it's  really  a  sure- 
enough  find  I  expect  there  will  be  a  small  stampede 
to  that  side  of  the  canyon.  There's  gold  all  through 
those  cliffs.  This  is  a  gold  country.  Some  day 
they'll  find  out  how  to  work  the  Topaz  Desert  as  a 
paying  proposition.  The  wash  from  these  headlands 
and  the  canyon  sides  has  been  carried  out  into  the 
desert  by  the  Runaway  for  a  couple  of  million  years 
— more  or  less." 

"Anyway,"  said  Nell,  her  eyes  sparkling,  "the 
old-timers  are  going  to  be  rich  at  last?  How  fine!" 

"It  may  only  be  a  pocket — or  a  broken  lead.  But 
I  wish  'em  both  millionaires.  Me,  I'll  stick  to  the 
Great  Hope  a  while  longer."  He  looked  at  Betty. 
"I  am  a  great  feller  for  sticking  to  a  thing." 

Betty  blushed  and  looked  away.  Hunt  said 
thoughtfully : 

"If  the  slide  has  only  caused  Siebert  and  McCann 
to  be  friends  again,  it  has  brought  about  something 
good — something  very  good  indeed." 

"Well,  you  talk  to  Judson  about  that.  His  stock 
is  pretty  near  ruined.  And  see  Tolley.  He's  almost 
weeping.  And  Colorado  Brown.  To  say  nothing 
of  Cholo  Sam,  who  has  lost  his  hotel." 

The  girls  again  looked  at  each  other.  There  was 
the  same  thought  in  their  minds.  What  had  become 
of  Dick  Beckworth  if  the  hotel  had  collapsed?  Of 
course  there  had  been  plenty  of  time  for  him  to 
have  escaped  from  the  building  before  it  went  down. 


304         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

None  of  the  structures  had  fallen  much  before  day 
break.  Yet  thought  of  him  continued  to  trouble  the 
girls. 

Joe  Hurley  got  Betty  off  to  one  side.  There  was 
no  work  being  done  at  any  of  the  mines,  so  the 
owner  of  the  Great  Hope  had  nothing  to  do  at  this 
hour.  Having  been  at  work  all  night  it  might  be 
supposed  that  he  would  need  sleep;  but  when  he 
looked  on  Betty  Hunt  his  gaze  was  anything  but 
somnolent. 

'There's  a  whole  lot  been  happening  in  a  few 
short  hours,  Betty,"  he  said  to  the  parson's  sister. 
"It  come  on  us  so  quick  and  it  happened  so  fast  that 
it  put  out  of  my  head  for  the  time  being  something 
I  had  to  say  to  you." 

"Something —  Nothing  you  shouldn't  say,  Joe?" 
she  stammered,  looking  at  him  with  pleading  eyes. 

"I  get  you,  Betty,"  said  the  mining  man.  "I  get 
you — sure.  You  are  warning  me  off  the  grass.  I 
don't  blame  you.  You  think  I  am  kind  of  dense, 
I  expect " 

"Oh,  never  that,  Joe,"  she  murmured.  "You  are 
kind  and  thoughtful  only." 

"I  hope  you  will  believe  so,"  said  Joe  bluntly, 
"when  I  tell  you  I  know  what  your  trouble  is — and 
I  know  there  ain't  no  chance  for  me  now.  But  I 
am  going  to  be  your  friend  just  as  you  said  I  could." 

"Oh!     Joe,  do  you  know?" 

"I  got  wind  of  a  story  Dick  Beckworth's  been 


Clearing  Skies  305 

telling — about  your  being  already  married.     It's  so, 
isn't  it?" 

Betty,  her  face  working  pitifully,  nodded. 

"All  right.  We  won't  say  no  more  about  it.  He's 
a  low  dog  for  telling  about  it.  I  don't  want  to  know 
no  more — not  even  who  the  feller  is  who  married 
you.  But  you  can  bank  on  me,  Betty,  every  time! 
I'm  your  friend." 

"I  know  you  are,  Joe,"  she  whispered,  and  the 
look  she  gave  him  paid  Joe  Hurley  for  a  good  deal. 

But  he  was  by  no  means  satisfied  to  consider  that 
Betty  Hunt's  marriage  closed  the  door  of  paradise 
in  his  face.  He  was  just  as  determined  to  get  her 
as  ever  he  had  been.  He  had  learned  the  great  thing 
that  he  had  desired  to  know.  Betty  loved  him.  He 
had  seen  it  in  her  look !  He  could  wait,  and  be  pa 
tient,  and  let  things  take  their  course.  She  could 
be  wedded  to  another  man  as  hard  and  fast  as  all 
the  laws  could  make  it.  But  Joe  Hurley  felt  a  glory 
in  his  soul  that  expanded  from  the  heaven-born  be 
lief  that  time  would  change  all  that! 

They  started  down  into  the  town,  the  girls  shod 
with  rubber  boots  that  Joe  supplied.  The  people 
of  Canyon  Pass  were  running  about  like  muddy  ants 
seeking  their  flooded  hills.  Mother  Tubbs  and  Sam 
were  high  and  dry  in  the  loft  of  the  stamp  mill.  The 
old  woman  had  made  Sam  lug  up  there  her  one  good 
feather-bed — and  it  was  dry.  But  as  she  said,  she 


306         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

expected  to  find  all  her  other  possessions  "as  wet 
as  a  frog's  hind  leg." 

Bill  Judson  lounged  in  the  doorway  of  the  Three 
Star  and  hailed  them  with  some  cheerfulness. 

"There's  one  sure  thing,  Parson  Hunt,"  he  said. 
"What  I  got  in  cans  ain't  water-soaked — much.  And 
the  cat  and  six  kittens  ain't  drowned.  I  expect  I 
can  keep  shop  with  what  I  got  left  for  a  while.  But 
Smithy's  lost  all  his  clo'es  that's  fit  to  wear,  dad 
burn  it !  I  can't  have  him  waitin'  on  lady  customers 
in  a  gunny-sack  and  a  pair  of  ridin'  boots." 

A  little  group  surrounded  Sheriff  Blaney  on  the 
street  as  the  quartette  strolled  along.  Joe  was  in 
terested. 

"Find  him,  Blaney?"  he  asked  the  officer. 

"Not  any.  And  it  beats  my  time.  I  don't  see 
where  that  Dick  Beckworth  could  have  holed  up.  He 
sure  didn't  get  out  of  town,  for  the  Forks  are  both 
plumb  impassable  for  man  or  beast." 

The  two  girls  exchanged  glances  again.  What 
had  happened  to  Dick  Beckworth?  Surely  he  must 
have  got  out  of  the  closet — out  of  the  hotel 

Suddenly  Betty  seized  Nell's  arm  with  an  hysteri 
cal  grip. 

"Nell!     Nell!"  she  whispered. 

"Don't  give  way.  Of  course  he's  all  right — 
though  he  ought  not  to  be !" 

"That  closet  door!  It  shut  with  a  spring  lock. 
It  could  not  be  opened  from  inside!" 


Clearing  Skies  307 

"Oh,  he  could  smash  down  the  door." 

The  two  young  men  did  not  notice  the  girls'  per 
turbation.  They  were  striding  ahead.  A  crowd 
was  running  toward  the  fallen  hotel.  Something 
of  moment  was  happening  there.  But  before  they 
reached  the  place  Cholo  Sam  saw  them,  and  started 
toward  the  parson  and  Joe. 

"Senor  Hunt!  Senor  Joe!  Keep  the  senoritas 
back.  It  is  not  for  them  to  see." 

"What's  the  matter,  Sam?"  asked  Hurley. 

"That  Dick  the  Deevil !  He  ees  found — my  good 
ness,  yes!  They  haf  just  pulled  him  out  of  the 
ruins  of  my  Wild  Rose — drowned  like  one  rat!" 

Fortunately  for  Canyon  Pass  and  its  flood-har 
assed  inhabitants,  frost  and  snow  held  off  that  win 
ter  until  remarkably  late.  The  mild  season  gave 
ample  opportunity  for  new  homes  to  be  built  and 
for  the  necessary  repairs  to  be  made  upon  the  struc 
tures  that  had  withstood  the  rising  waters. 

The  supply  wagons  brought  in  quantities  of  neces 
sary  goods  from  Crescent  City  and  the  railroads. 
The  mines  and  washings  shut  down  while  all  turned 
to  the  work  of  rebuilding.  Tolley's  Grub  Stake 
and  Colorado  Brown's  place,  both  swept  by  the 
water,  were  the  last  buildings  to  be  remodeled.  The 
gamblers  and  dance-hall  girls  and  other  employees 
of  those  places  left  town,  for  it  promised  to  be  a 
lean  winter  for  their  ilk  at  Canyon  Pass. 


308         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

In  fact,  Boss  Tolley  sold  out  and  got  out  himself 
among  the  very  first  to  desert  the  town.  His  de 
parture  and  the  sale  of  all  his  property  opened  the 
way  for  Parson  Hunt's  supporters  to  buy  from  the 
purchaser  of  Tolley's  property  the  building  which 
had  been  used  for  church  services  and  the  lot  on 
which  it  stood. 

They  could  not  begin  the  building  of  a  proper 
church  until  spring,  of  course;  but  the  money  was 
pledged  for  an  edifice  that  would  cost  all  Joe  Hurley 
had  planned. 

Hurley  himself  was  able  to  subscribe  a  much 
larger  sum  than  at  first,  for  the  Great  Hope  had 
proved  to  be  as  valuable  a  mine  as  he  had  told  Betty 
and  the  parson  he  believed  it  would.  But  it  was 
from  another  source  that  the  church  building  fund 
gained  its  largest  contribution. 

Old  Steve  Siebert  and  Andy  McCann  had  "struck 
it  rich."  The  romance  of  the  uncovering  of  a  rich 
vein  of  gold  in  the  west  wall  of  the  canyon  is  told 
to-day  to  every  tourist  who  comes  to  Canyon  Pass. 

How,  at  a  time  in  the  camp's  early  history,  two 
partners  who  had  prospected  the  Topaz  Range  and 
the  desert  adjoining  fruitlessly  for  years  had  found 
traces  of  gold  high  up  on  the  canyon  wall  behind  a 
sheltering  ledge  and  had  "locked  horns"  in  their 
first  quarrel  over  how  the  lode  was  to  be  got  at. 

At  the  height  of  their  argument  a  landslip  had 
buried  the  hollow  where  the  rich  find  was  located 


Clearing  Skies  309 

and,  rather  than  that  either  should  profit  by  the 
joint  find,  the  two  old  fellows  had  never  tried  to 
open  the  claim  until  nature,  by  another  freak,  uncov 
ered  it  for  them. 

"I  says  to  Andy,  and  Andy  says  to  me,"  Steve 
Siebert  was  wont  to  recall,  "when  we  seen  how  rich 
that  lode  was,  a  part  of  our  profits  oughter  go  to  the 
parson  and  his  church." 

"You're  mighty  right  we  did,"  agreed  Andy. 
Agreeing  was  now  Andy's  strongest  trait.  "We-all 
got  to  pull  together  in  this  world.  And  if  we-all 
pull  together  yere  in  Canyon  Pass  we  can  have  as 
good  a  church  as  any  camp  needs.  We  sure  got  the 
best  parson." 

"You're  right,  Andy,"  Steve  said.  "I  certainly 
do  despise  folks  that  are  always  fighting  each  other 
and  pullin'  contrary.  No  sense  in  it — no  sense 
a-tall." 

In  fact  the  two  old  fellows  became  joint  treas 
urers  of  the  church  building  fund.  They  took  it 
upon  themselves,  too,  to  pass  the  contribution  plates 
at  service.  The  only  friction  Andy  McCann  and 
Steve  Siebert  were  ever  known  to  display  thereafter 
was  a  mild  rivalry  as  to  the  amount  of  money  col 
lected  from  the  congregation  seated  on  their  particu 
lar  sides  of  the  house.  It  was  suspected  that  each 
swelled  his  collection  considerably  on  Sunday  morn 
ings  so  that  his  half  of  the  house  would  make  the 
best  showing  when  the  offering  was  counted! 


310         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

"Dad  burn  it!"  muttered  Bill  Judson,  "let  'em 
alone.  That's  a  mild  matter  for  disagreement.  They 
ain't  likely  to  pull  no  guns  on  each  other  over  that." 

Indeed  Canyon  Pass  was  on  its  good  behavior  that 
winter.  The  exigencies  of  the  flood  which  had 
driven  out  a  good  deal  of  the  worst  element  of  the 
town  gave  the  better  people  a  chance  to  take  hold  of 
its  government  with  a  firmer  hand — and  a  hand  that 
Hunt  and  his  associates  were  determined  should  not 
again  lose  its  grip.  Even  Slickpenny  Norris  in  time 
came  to  see  that  religious  progress  was  not  actually 
synonymous  with  bankruptcy. 

To  the  parson's  standard  flocked  many  of  those 
who  had  before  been  but  lukewarm.  Not  least  of 
his  new  helpers  was  the  erstwhile  cabaret  singer. 
Nell  Blossom  proved  her  value  in  the  work  to  be 
quite  all  that  Hunt  had  hoped. 

This  busy  time,  when  Joe  Hurley  and  Betty  really 
were  so  wrapped  up  in  each  other  that  they  could 
scarcely  be  expected  to  be  of  value  to  anybody  but 
themselves,  the  parson  found  in  Nell  Blossom  a 
willing  and  efficient  aid.  They  were  both  earnest 
in  the  cause,  and  so  earnest  that  it  seemed  they  had 
little  thought  for  extraneous  matters.  Yet  on  one 
occasion  when  they  were  looking  over  the  blueprints 
of  the  proposed  church  edifice,  Nell  slipped  an  extra 
sheet  of  plans  into  sight  from  beneath  those  of  the 
church. 

"Why,  what  is  this,  Ford?"  she  asked. 


Clearing  Skies  311 

"Oh,  yes !  I  wanted  to  show  you  that,  Nell.  And 
get  your  approval." 

"My  approval?" 

"Er — yes.  You  see,  I've  bought  the  lot  right 

next  to  the  church  site.  Now,  this  cottage — er 

Here!  Let  me  show  you.  We  can  have  the  mill 
work  for  it  shipped  in  with  the  church  stuff.  The 
same  gang  that  builds  the  church  can  run  the  house 
up.  There's  the  front  elevation.  Say,  Nell,  how 
do  you  like  it?" 

"Why,  it's  lovely!"  she  cried. 

"Do  you  think  it's  nice  enough  for  a  parson's 
wife  to  live  in?" 

"Ford!     Mr.  Hunt!     I " 

"Better  let  the  'Mr.  Hunt'  stuff  slide,  Nell  Blos 
som,"  he  said,  getting  hold  of  her  hand.  "Even  a 
minister's  wife  is  supposed  to  call  her  husband  by 
his  first  name — at  least,  in  private." 

"Oh,  Ford!" 

"That's  better." 

"But — but  I  am  not  fit  to  be  a  parson's  wife, 
Ford,"  she  cried,  trembling. 

"Do  you  know,  sometimes  I've  half  believed  I 
wasn't  fit  to  be  a  parson?  But  it's  my  job  and  I'm 
going  to  do  the  best  I  can  with  it.  And — I  need  your 
help,  Nell  Blossom." 

"I  came  out  here  to  try  to  win  the  heart  of  Canyon 
Pass.  I  found  it — almost  as  soon  as  I  arrived.  But 
I  thought  for  a  long  time  that  it  never  would  be 


312         The  Heart  of  Canyon  Pass 

mine.  I  am  bold  enough  now,  Nell,  to  believe  that 
I  may  win  it." 

He  smiled  at  her  with  such  affection  in  his  gaze, 
such  a  warmth  of  comprehension  as  well  as  desire, 
that  Nell  Blossom,  tearful,  trembling,  half  fearful, 
swayed  toward  him  and  felt  again  his  strong  arms 
about  her. 

"If — if  I  can  only  be  worthy  of  you,  Ford.  If 
I  don't  disgrace  you,"  she  sobbed.  "Just  think! 
A  singer  all  my  life  in  those  ugly  cabarets " 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  the  Reverend  Willett  Ford  Hunt 
quietly.  "And  only  for  a  difference  in  environment 
I  might  have  been  a  part  of  the  most  reckless  audi 
ence  you  ever  had  to  sing  to.  We  will  let  the  past 
bury  the  past,  Nell.  We  have  only  to  deal  with  the 
future." 

And  he  held  her  to  him  close. 


THE  END 


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Blind  Man's  Eyes,  The.     By  Wm.   Mac   Harg  and   Edwin 

Balmer. 

Boardwalk,  The.     By  Margaret  Widdemer. 
Bob  Hampton  of  Placer.    By  Randall  Parrish. 
Bob,  Son  of  Battle.    By  Alfred  Olivant. 
Box  With  Broken  Seals,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Boy  With  Wings,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 
Brandon  of  the  Engineers.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Bridge  of  Kisses,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 
Broad  Highway,  The.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 
Broadway  Bab.    By  Johnston  McCulley. 
Brown  Study,  The.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Bruce  of  the  Circle  A.    By  Harold  Titus. 
{Buccaneer  Farmer,  The.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Buck  Peters,  Ranchmaii    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Builders,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 
Business  of  Life,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horse,  The.    By  John  Reed  Scott 

Cabbage  and  Kings.    By  O.  Henry. 

Cabin  Fever.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright 

Cape  Cod  Stories.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Abe,  Storekeeper.   By  James  A.  Cooper. 

Cap'n  Dan's  Daughter.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Erl.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Jonah's  Fortune.    By  James  A.  Cooper. 

Cap'n  Warren's  Wards.    By  Joseph  C  Lincoln. 

Chinese  Label,  The.    By  J.  Frank  Davis. 

Christine  of  the  Young  Heart.  By  Louise  Breinten-bacfi  Clancy. 

Cinderella  Jane.    By  Marjorie  B.  Cooke. 

Cinema  Murder,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

City  of  MaSks,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Cleek  of  Scotland  Yard.    By  T.  W.  Hanshew, 


